Everything was hot. The wood on which he lay to the pillow on which his head sagged. His whole body was burning with heat. The simple vest and shorts sodden and warm as his sweat emitted to cool heated by the very air into which it came in contact with. The very breath exhaled from his mouth too warmed his nose when whipped that way. And then came the wind. At first light as a slight stir in the air but then stronger and harder raising the light dry red dust from the ground and carrying it on its way. And the wind was sure to bring relief from the intensity of everything heating the day and his very body and all that there seemed to be. But no relief for the wind itself even when stronger and more demanding remained the breath of a dragon if anything raising the heat even more and leaving desire of relief not only unfulfilled but a mere broken and wishful thought; a mistaken and weak hopeful idea.


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