In the sun, I sit on a rock.
It is hot.
So hot that I feel the sun is going to melt me.
Even the rock is hot.
And the sand around me is radiating the air.
The air is flickering in response.
While I stare at the horizon, all I can think of is an icy popsicle.
I can see it in front of me.
I’m about to grab it.
And it is – gone.
Just like that.
Just like a Fata Morgana.