It's that time of year in Phoenix when the hot desert wind will whittle you down to your brittle bones. And by the time your bones are cleansed of tissue, they'll be blanched by the brutally efficient sun.
We had a 118 degree day already. I think this must sound crazy to anyone else in the US unless, of course, they keep a summer home in Death Valley. Okay, and yes, it is a dry heat - mostly. But it's so dry here that any overcast can be a relief and feel oppressive with humidity at the same time.
A friend told me a few days ago that she feels as if she has grown use to this summer heat, days of 109 - 116 degree weather for four straight months. I've been here just short of nine years, and, no, I am not used to that heat. By October, I am actually angry. And if I thought that I could make the desert feel my wrath, I'd probably wander around beating cacti, rocks and scorpions with a broom.