The `Rush` in Crush

 In the Past I liked to spoof-out "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" by relating Summertime `Goings On`.  This Past was experienced as gruelingly ruthless.  There was unremitting SUFFOCATING Heat and Humidity, the Air so Wet, I had to use my gills to breathe.  This Edge, the Edge of NEAR Collapse, the one where sitting and blinking produced GALLONS of sweat, and it was so Hot, so THICK with Air SYRUP, that there was NO sound;;; the birds Still,,, as if Death had wrought Silence into Lead Steel,,, to use its Weight to CRUSH one's lungs.  I resided in this Crush, breathing the Syrup,, relishing the INTENSITY of Existence~~~~ 

There were Times of Old, when,,, as I reloaded the saw with fuel, it BOILED once it made contact~~~the sweat from my face dripping into the reservoir.  That Heat, that OVEN  face-melting Heat-- it `made` me feel ALIVE.  `It` was there this Summer, the searing BEAUTY of Molten Moments.