Fifteen Minute Walk

Not a breath of wind, and at 9:30 a.m. it's already uncomfortable. The bay is still and glassy, the humidity coming off of it clinging to the skin and inundating clothing. A grungy brown layer of smog hovers overhead, trapped between the ranges of mountains on either side. It is so thick that I can scarcely make out the buildings on the far side of the water. Out on the waterfront, not a living creature moves. Even the seagulls are not airborne today -- they are out there on the bay, buoyant statues bobbing on the surface of a great, gray mirror. My limpid, dirty, sweating city is not at its finest today. After fifteen minutes, I abandon my exploratory foray and head back to the comfort of my cool, dark house and life-giving air-conditioner. A quick peramble, a swift diagnosis, a speedy retreat: me -- Groundhog of the Aegean? The thought makes me giggle. At home, I change clothes for the second time and slice some ice-cold watermelon. There will be other, better days.