Life is moving at such a clip these days. The twirling funnel of politics and the economy has borne us aloft and tossed us in different directions. Another emerging presence has bade me to pay heed and temporarily cease my punditry. Although normally impressive, his debut this year is simply brutal. Of course I'm talking about Summer, even though the season hasn't officially been christened.

Living in North Carolina one anticipates the heat and humidity. Some even pray for its hastened return as if our gray but paltry Winter had shuttered the skies forever. I mark its coming in my own small ways. I look for the first lightning bugs (fireflies to some) around the end of May. The luminary insects were woefully late and few this year. In their stead was a gorgeous month of low humidity and less than 90 degree days: the most glorious May I remember.

I also listen for the crickets, and their initial discordant chirpings sound like an out of practice insect symphony on opening night. Later this year, along with the frogs and insomniac birds, their nightsong will swim through my dream-riddled sleep. But tonight it's too hot for such musical pleasures. Instead, I've settled for the Industrialist strains of twin fans pummeling my greatful body.

Part of me views this premature triple-digit heatwave as a bad omen. Honestly, Summer's nearly a fortnight away! It reminds me of the Biblical reference, "the fire next time". And yet the sun's reign over us for these few months is part of life's circle. We have to walk through its Death Valley rays to reach our oasis. We sway toward its baking gaze even as our old skin, parched and cracked, peels from our new bodies. And with the abandon of a new faun, we bask in its golden glow.