Dry Season Blues by Harry Connick, Jr

It's hot. 

I hate talking about the heat, or the cold. It's like talking about breathing. Isn't it annoying when people say "It's hot!"?
Can you think of anything more el boro than discussing the temperature? Like you don't know it's hot, like saying it helps in any way. Do we need to share the misery or joy of it?  It just is, it's the world, forget it and if it isn't you (it's not me....) , do what you can to stay positive.

But what I was saying is the time comes when the earth has changed and this island near the equator is feeling the shift. The sun is higher and stronger, the humidity is in, the air stops moving as if someone has sucked all the oxygen out of it. Thinking slows, movement is an effort. This usually happens in June but here it is mid-March and it feels we're there.

Snowbirds leave, full-timers head to Maine, businesses close. STJ becomes Tombstone.

And there is no water. That's probably the worst part.

My Poor Be-nee-nees

We all need water. I think there's something primal that takes over when you don't have it. It's as vital as air. An afternoon shower or thunderstorm is a relief. The sound of running water is reassuring.
I could never be a Bedouin.

Hungry Bee & Wasp

Impatience and focus becomes edginess. The bees are bothering the birds at the feeder, the wasps are hovering. Tolerance is waning everywhere I go. I've taken to swatting the wasps and leaving them for the ants to carry away. A determined group of ants can move a complete wasp up a 12ft wall in 30 minutes. I know because I timed it.
Everyone wants water from the saucers. The pond is dry now. The banana leaves have curled and are starting to yellow. Sailboats are motoring instead of sailing, the haze blocks out the views of distant islands. Your back sticks to the wicker chair, your pillow is a heat source behind your neck. The trees drop their leaves, the wind chimes are silent, the frogs and insects have gone still, the soil is packed hard. Even the No-See-Ums have gone. Bailed.

The Dry Pond

Dry Season. 

Drought saps life. Meanwhile every living thing waits.

In April 2010 the entire Caribbean was battling a record drought that had shut down schools and courtrooms and sparked brush fires. Water trucks were ever present. When the water ran out rationing started.

Usually you can count on rain in September and October, the end of Hurricane Season. The drought that started in October, normally STJ's wettest month, continued into May. 

But the rains came.

Eventually, over the weeks, things start to go roller-coaster down. Soon everyone is talking about the "R" word - rain. Like a dieter who can't stop thinking of the cake they're missing. 

It was so nice in February! 

But the rains come. They will. 

Some island folklore signs of rain are seeing bats flying lower, frogs croaking and roosters crowing before going to sleep.

 I heard •·.·´¯`·.·• Harry Connick Jr •·.·´¯`·.·• is here.

Just the hope of running into him could keep me going till it rains again. 

 While we wait, it isn't like there's nothing to do.

    
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