It’s been a week of record highs. Even up at the Grand Canyon, where we went with my parents last Thursday, the sun wanted to press right through one side of my face and out the other. The ravens rose and dove as we crept down a trail that carved into the cliff face and snaked out along ridges. We descended until we caught sight of the Colorado River, an oily green streak far below. Dr. G had arcs of red dust that settled on the backs of his legs. The persistent dust crept into the corners of my eyes and dusted my scalp. My ears were full of dust and my nose ran red. The cell phone died searching for a signal. A sharp breeze whirled through and knocked Dr. G’s hat over the ridge, in sight but good as gone. They have books there, in the big store not far from the edge, about all the ways that people have died. We didn’t feel even close to dying.