haze

The sky has that dull haze, making the pure blue of the past few just a happy memory. I love spring, but it also is ominous, because I dislike the heat of summer. If I were in the country, the summer heat would be tolerable. I could sit under a tree, in the shade, and wait for evening. But here, in the city, the heat is torturous: it makes the dirt and trash on the streets ferment and reek, turns the subway platform into an inferno, and forces me to live in air-conditioned chill. So when the sky appears dull, the sun a vague brightness, the edges of the horizon a pink-tinged gray color, it is a warning of what is to come.