Man on a Hot Tin Roof

 

I could let it be shown much worser. This is the view from out of my kitchen window, but you don't want to go out there, here where it's 41 degrees Celsius or 106 Fahrenheit today. Everything's burning.

This is what you'll see, when you take your sunglasses off, this burnt-out remnant of a garden with you, or me, jumping up and down on the spot like some sort of crazy dancer possessed, what with your or their toes and soles burning alive, as happened to me, taking these shots...

...not even a cactus likes being fried alive. I am having to leave them all out there, my plants. It makes me bleed, every time this happens, these days of extreme heat. Bleed? Have I any blood left? Last night I barely slept, the thermometor dipping no lower than 25 degrees Celsius ( 77 Fahrenheit ).

This is a safe picture, from out of my back door, but you can see beyond to the burnt grass/wannabe lawn.

This is how it is in the laundry, my 'tropical' plants cindering ( "Cindering"? Getting charcoalesqued. ).

It all looks so innocent, doesn't it, a blue sky, some waving trees. If we have to take alot more of this though, we won't be waving, we'll be shrieking. Tennessee Williams knew  about heat, as did Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman. But it aint no theatre out there. The ground's so hot it scorches whatever touches it, the air deadens, silently. Everything waits for change.

Even my kitchen is hot, and I'm cooking nothing mama.
I wander throughout the house, a ghost of my gardening self.
I daren't look any more outside till this evening, wimp that I am. THEN I'll be able to water some of my friends and bring them back to life.