i wish there was a way to keep cold weather; to stuff it in the side pocket of my suitcase, to put it on a shelf when i get home, like a souvenir.  i can’t, though, and eventually i’ll forget about long sleeves, about jackets and boots.  frozen fingers.  tea.  when i get home it will be hot–it has always been hot–and it will be hot for the rest of my life.