Growing up, unfamiliar often equated to bad. The closer you live to the sun influences your opinion of hot. I’m prone to diaphoresis – the egg to my anxiety. No reason to choose a humid climate. Not to mention drama.

I’m flying higher than ever, smiling so much I almost want the wax to melt. Just to relax. Then I bow forward and hang my head. Miles left to go before I rest. Upward momentum, coasting along. Not sinking, just floating still.

I forgot about gliding.