The Devil’s Punch Bowl
I am sticky hot. The wind blows through the yard sending the laundry into a dance.
I can’t escape this heat. The wind stings against the cracks in my lips. My jeans are hot plates against my legs. My feet are on fire. I am melting from the inside out.
I help Momma fold the bedding. She nods for me to go and play. I do my own happy dance and run for the dry brush.
I pass Lady, our milk cow. She seems to enjoy munching on the dry grass. I can’t imagine sage brush tasting good, but this time of year it is really the only thing to eat.
The wind whips through trying to push me back. I am too persistent to stop. Though, I did stop for a dirt devil. Those things will cover you from head to toe in sweet dirt.
Finally, I reached my salvation. She flows in the wild. Our neck of the woods is hot and dry like the desert. There is very little rain in the summer months. Yet the “Devil’s Punch Bowl” continues to flow.
I take off my clothes lickity-split. I jump into the cold crisp waters of the punch bowl. I guess technically, I am part of the Devil’s Punch.
I swear I am not leaving this water until the temperature cools. Then as the sun lowers in the sky, I hear Papa’s whistle. It is time to feed the animals.
I get out knowing I will dry quickly in the hot sun and dry wind.