Not for the water you feel streaming down your back and the hollows of your knee the moment you step into a shop after 15 minutes on your bike to get there. Don’t you ever dare to take a picture of my red face in such a moment. I’d have to kill you.
Not for sitting on your couch not daring to move because even thinking might produce energy. And all movement = energy = produces heat.
Not for the nasty sensation when you unglue your body from the driver’s seat of your car.
Neither for the children shouting in your ear around the small space on the lawn where you placed your towel nor for the same children missing you only by millimetres when dive bombing into the pool.
No, sir.
I love it
for overcoming your lack of willpower to get on your bike in the midday sun, only to discover the sweetness of the airflow on your skin.
I love it
for the wee hours of the evening, when the sun is down and the heat subsides and the air feels like the wind is caressing your skin. The smell of barbecues tickles your nose, you hear people laughing and having a good time.
I love it
for meadows vibrating with the sound of millions of crickets or cicadas.
For the crisp air in the morning that you know is not heralding another day in mittens and scarf, but is a precious gift before the heat.
For a natural instinct to eat less, because it’s just too hot to dig in on double helpings of meat.
For the shimmering heat discharging in a thunderstorm with warm rain.
I love it.
Tales from Ella's kitchen 