That's weatherman talk for saying the desert has been lax in gaping wide its molten, seething maw and consuming me in the furnace of its discontent.
Who knows? Maybe it has better things to do. Maybe it fell in love.
Lately, when I've gone for a run, it's been in the mood to set the mood, if you know what I'm saying.
The air is dulcet, caressing, sweet. The light is low. And I blush madly, because the desert always drops what it's doing when I come onto the scene and fixes me with one of those long, appraising stares, like a thirsty man who just found water.
Of course I start talking like a nervous auctioneer, humiliated by my slipshod appearance, my botched ponytail, but the desert moves in, shushing me, never breaking eye contact, speaking in low, exotic tones which is probably a fake accent but works wonders on me in the moment.
Then it surprises me with a gesture that shows just how much the desert truly gets me: tadpoles!
If you know anything about me, anything at all, you'll know that gesture went straight to my heart.
I am smitten by tadpoles, as it happens.
Love comes in all shapes and sizes, dear reader. You are lucky if you have a dog. You are lucky if you have a friend. You are lucky if you have a child. You are lucky if you have a bar of chocolate, a yellow cardigan, a good book, a Trader Joe's. You are exceedingly lucky if you come across your own Mr. Darcy.
But in the midst of all that love, there is always room for more, and hopefully this summer you will have the living daylights wooed out of you by the mesmerizing and seductive, great outdoors.