This is not Indian Summer

It was stinking hot today, it wasn’t too bad on the way to school because it was early  in the morning, but when I was coming home at one o’clock I was sweating through my shirt and the tram was like a sauna because windows are like prisms, they heighten the power of the sun, it is the exact opposite of standing in shade.  When it would stop and the doors would open, there was a puff of a breeze, but that was the only relief.
I am not complaining.  Soon the days will grow cooler and everybody will have to add a layer or two of clothing and the homeless will take up permanent residence on the trams and, even more so on the Metro, shuttling back and forth across the city because it’s the only place they can be to avoid, you know, dying, and it may be uncharitable of me to complain about the stink but, damn.
I have heard several people mentioning the phrase ‘Indian Summer,’ or the Czech  equivalent, ‘Babileto,’ i.e. Grandmother’s Summer, and I take issue with that.  This is not Indian Summer.  This is the continuation of summer, we’re getting an extension on the warm weather this year.  Whether that’s due to global warming or  we’re just lucky, I don’t know (it’s global warming), but my  point is for it to be Indian Summer, there has to have been an intervening period  of autumn, and that has not happened yet.  The few cool days we’ve had recently have been because it was raining, but it was summer rain.
A few leaves have fallen from the trees but it’s because they have burned up and are brown.  The reds and golds that make Prague so spectacular in the autumn have not happened yet.
Despite the specter of global warming and impending global famine, I am not too sorry that we are having longer, hotter summers and shorter, not so cold winters.  Selfish of me, I suppose.


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