There's snow in the forecast for northern Minnesota.
Yesterday brought the kind of wind gusts that leave your ears ringing, that make you want to hunker down indoors and draw the curtains to create a sense of quiet. And so yesterday, with my ears ringing and a chance of flurries hanging over my head, I dreamed of late summer and heat.
I love the heat. It entices me into water. It takes the dreariness out of our sometimes light-starved rooms and makes them seem like shady oases. It's exhausting and sticky, yes, but knowing how quickly it will pass makes me want to run outdoors and hold the hot earth in my naked arms.
I love the heat because it's intimate in a very physical way. In winter we draw inside of ourselves. We insulate our bodies from the cold - we build layers. In summer, we bare ourselves to the heat. Our bodies smell like yeast, our fingers swell. The heat draws out our sweat, the sun leaves its mark on our skin.
And so yesterday I dreamed of sun tea, vintage dresses, and hammocks at night. I dreamed of bare earth that burns your feet and grass that cools it. I dreamed a bead of sweat running down my spine, of seeking out shade, of lying in bed with my arms thrown wide.
But for all my dreaming, I'm not ready to let go of spring yet. The lilacs are blooming, and I bury my nose into their sent. I eat asparagus raw in the garden. This morning, I roasted rhubarb with vanilla and orange, and ate it over a bowl of Greek yogurt. And it was so good that I decided to shelve my summer dreams for the day. After all, in a few short months, I'm sure I'll be panting on the deck, dreaming of snow.