She leaned over and flipped off the switch.
No need for the air conditioner. Time to open all the windows and let in the fresh, cool breeze. Quite a change from the last month of blow-torch-blasting, egg-frying-on-the-sidewalk heat. The kind of heat where your feet literally blister when you walk barefoot on the pavement for too long. And sweat-glistened skin turns into integumentary drip hoses. The kind of heat where you notice the difference between 100 degrees and 110 and think to yourself how enjoyable is the former.
The two-leggeds are happier for a few days. Nicer to each other. Giving thanks for the break, the coolness, the all too few, but still welcome, drops of rain. Smiling. Commenting to each other on this beautiful gift given in the middle of a Hell Hole of a hot summer. The four-leggeds notice too. And the birds, the insects and the plants all join in the enjoyment. Even the fish notice they don't have to swim as deep to find cold spots in the waterways. And the parched, over baked earth sighs with relief.
But all too soon, the two-leggeds forget to give thanks and start taking these pleasures for granted. They come to expect that these blissful days will continue without interruption. They start thinking that they control the world around them.
She sees this and sighs in exasperation. "Angel, my love," she says to her winged companion. "See that group of beings down there along the west coast of the United States of America? I have been working with them on gratitude. For a minute I thought they were getting it but I can now see that I have more work to do. Can you flip that switch back on and turn the setting to INCINERATE? No, just turn it to HIGH HEAT instead. God only uses INCINERATE when she has to teach the biggest of lessons."
