Summer temporales look like they’ll bless us still, the whole southern horizon flashes lightning in the dawn, the north horizon flashes over there above Phoenix where even at this still-dark hour the temperature is at 89 degrees, the radio tells. Here on Firesky Ridge, 68 degrees.
It’s a day to ride range out of El Potrero, on my way there I pass two Swainson’s Hawks perched in a mesquite along the Cascabel Road. The calls of Yellow-billed Cuckoo come from the bosque as I saddle up Loompy, and I wonder how much longer I’ll hear them (it turns out this is the last time) and that the bird is telling that summer is over even if I don’t see the truth of it. For the cuckoo, it’s time to leave for South America.