When he returned from releasing the snake into a friendlier
environment, Rand saw Julia was still sitting up on the table, crosslegged,
staring out the window. Her hair had come undone and was
falling down her neck and back in ringlets that clung to her skin, and
large circles darkened her blouse under the arms.
“What are you doin’ up there?”
“I hate this place. I hate Florida. I hate living where giant beetles fly
into your hair and where snakes come into the house. I hate breathing
in wet gnats, and I hate the mosquitoes, and I hate the damp that keeps
my clothes sticking to me. I hate that it is autumn and it is still hot
enough to raise bread. And I hate you for keeping me here,” she
“Come down,” he said, reaching up his arms.
“No. I am going to stay up here until I die, and they will find
nothing but my bones in a moldy mound on the table.”
He reached up and slid his hands under her skirt, moving them
against the tender flesh around her ankles and at the backs of her knees.
“Then you’d better come down before you squirm right off, darlin’.
I want to show you somethin’.”
“Oh, I bet you do want to show me something, Mr. Washburn!”
“Yeah, that, too. But come down for now and I’ll show you
somethin’ else that’s special. You’ll like it.”
I know a lot of Yankee friends look forward to a season where they can return to open windows and getting out into the fresh air.
Their season is springtime. For those of us in the land of air conditioning, 105F temps and 99% humidity, it's autumn. Later this month I'll do my annual posting of the Persimmon Cake recipe from Smuggler's Bride (persimmons are starting to pop up at the farmers market), but today I'm enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and being able to walk around outside without wilting into a humid little pile of sweat soaked clothing,