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Short Story 914 - Keeping Cool (Intermediate)

When summer sun begins to beat upon the streets in heavy waves, we seek the shade beneath the trees and sit beside the garden gates.

Some fill their cups with ice and juice, some peel an orange, slow and sweet. Some dip their feet in pools of blue and let the water cool their skin.

We close the blinds to block the light, we turn the fans on low and high. We eat cold meals on simple plates and wait for evening, wait for night.

Some drift to shops with open doors where air flows cool along the aisles. They wander slow through rows of books and stay until the heat subsides.

Some ride the bus and take the train, not for the place but for the breeze. They travel far to reach the sea and walk along the wet sand bare.

At home we place wet cloths of white upon our necks and tired heads. We drink warm tea, as some folks say that heat can chase the heat away.

The children play in spray and hose, they laugh and shout and run and splash. The dogs lie flat on kitchen floors and pant upon the cool stone tiles.

We open windows, hoping hard for any wind to come our way. We read our books in quiet rooms and move less, talk less, think less too.

The old men sit in public squares beneath the planes where shadows fall. They talk of years when it was worse and years when rain would save us all.

The mothers fan the little ones with folded paper, hand to hand. They hum a tune and wipe a brow and watch the sky for signs of grey.

Some cook at dawn before the heat, then store the food and close the door. Some sleep through noon beneath thin sheets and wake when light begins to fade.

We frozen yield to sweet delights: a cone of cream, a stick of ice. We bite and lick and smile awhile and feel the cold rush down our throats.

Some hike to hills where air is thin and streams run cold between the rocks. They sit on boulders, dip their hands, and wish they never had to leave.

The city slows, the pavements glow, the buildings shine like heated glass. We cross the road with careful steps and look for shade on every side.

We turn the hose upon the grass and stand beneath it, clothes and all. We place our phones in bowls of rice -- no -- just ourselves, we place in shade.

When daylight goes and dusk arrives, we pull our chairs out to the yard. We speak in whispers, drink our wine, and let the moon replace the sun.

The cricket sings his night-long song, the streetlamps flicker into glow. We breathe at last with open chests and feel the gifts of evening air.

And though we know the heat returns, we treasure every mild degree. We learn to wait, we learn to rest, we learn to praise the simple breeze.

So when the heat lies thick and still, we find our ways to carry on: with shade and water, rest and calm, until the burning sun is gone.

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Story written by Lumo.

Image created by 1min.ai.

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