SAD

She remembers the summer they were spoiled by heat - hazed skies, the threat of thunder, wearing nearly nothing, others carrying umbrellas.

He wanted to ride all the time, feel the air, driven tepid by speed. She'd cling to his back and watch scorched wheat fields pass. They'd stop, if she begged him, to sunbathe in the grass, pour melted iced water from wet plastic bottles over the other one's throat. She liked the way the liquid pooled in his jugular notch. They never stayed still for long.

The roads were slimy with heat.

She can still hear the crack and blister of tarmac, the spark of metal and snap of bone on road.

When hot weather descends, she draws the blinds, turns up the air-conditioning, and retreats from chinks of light.

It doesn't take much to pretend that she's in dead winter's grasp.