The weather is almost always very moderate where we live. In the summer the hottest stretch is July-August (and it's also very dry, no rain at all, usually), but we're talking ninety degrees tops in the town. Out here in the county we're always five to ten degrees cooler. The winter is very mild, too. We had less than an inch of snow fall this past year. I was out in shirtsleeves in November and then in January without discomfort, for a short while at least. And again, for us it's usually five to ten degrees warmer in the winter than it is in town.

And I grew up in Chicago, where a hot and humid summer is a given. And I mean, humid. Ninety percent humidity wasn't all that unusual. When I was a kid, the only places that were airconditioned were taverns and the movie theater. Most of the time we made do with fans. I remember that once in a while, the heat made it hard to sleep. But mostly we coped just fine.

As I get older (and rounder) I'm less able to deal with the heat. It puts me to sleep. Sitting in the front room just now on the shady side of the house, the doors to the deck are open and there's a cool breeze and birdsong. No noise at all, beyond the birds. No road noise, no neighbor noise. Nothing. Oh wait, a small plane just flew over head. That shut up the birds for about five seconds.

/aside/ someday I have to find a bird watcher who is willing to come sit on my deck and tell me what I'm hearing. At least twenty different kinds of birds, including eagles -- we have a lot of eagles, so I do recognize that call /aside/.

I've been writing, but mostly I've been struggling not to fall asleep. It's hypnotic under any conditions, but the additional warmth is like an airborne narcotic, and I know that if I let myself I could drift off to sleep right here and doze away most of the day.

But I have to go back to South Carolina, where it's early October and my character is about to spill the beans.