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Shhhhh, I am whispering.

Hot water streaming out of a pipe in the wall is largely a luxury, privilege, considering many parts of the world people have to walk with jugs to a town well.

But here I am standing under a stream of hot water. It’s a quiet, enveloping, temporal escape. Everything else seems … muted? away? distant? The ticking of time is outside, there is no clock. How long have I been in here?


Ah was that a pun? A flash of steam?

As a kid, in the summer, I discovered even when it was hot out, I liked sitting in front of the fan that blew hot air out of our home. I discovered if I pulled a chair facing it, I could hold up a beach towel with my feet pressed against the upper corners, and create a hot tent of privacy. I loved sitting under there and reading. Then I found I could get the fan to run if I nudged down the thermostat in our main hallway. I think my parents were confused as to how cold the house got in the summer.

It was me.

Later, living in a cold climate where te sole source of heat was a single propane powered unit blasting air, that I enjoyed waking in the still morning, hearing the heater kick in, and I would rush to sit in front of it. I relish the feel of that hot blast of air.

More hot water steaming. Have I lost all sense of time and place?

As an adult found the showers a great thinking place. I solved problems, worked though situations in the space. I’d come out, realizing I was late for a meeting or a call, but also, that in the heat of the heat, I came up with ideas.

It’s not energy efficient and rather wasteful. But I think I just might linger here a bit longer.

What time is it?