This is my favorite season of the year, the season before the flood. When the air is humid, and the sun is hot, and you can feel Ra’s fierce blaze on your skin even as He rises. I love the heat and the sticky humidity, the sense of anticipation building around me, like the Earth is sick with a fever that rises until the flood comes and breaks it.
I don’t live in a part of the world where the flood is crucial to my survival. I don’t even live in a part of the world where annual flooding is a part of my life. My streets flood when it rains too hard, but that has little to do with tides and seasons. Even in Egypt, the Nile is dammed so that the floods don’t have the same impact as they once would have.
Even so removed, I still feel an unseen flood building through the summer months. Waters in the Duat climb their banks, the gods and spirits chatter and prepare. The year gets old and rickety; the flood will sweep away its foundation and leave a new one in its place. We will be purified in the tide as it crests and washes over us. Everything that has built up on the year will be drowned and freed to start fresh.
I’m feeling it stronger this year than in years past. Normally I get swept up in the pull towards the new year, but this year I am standing in the middle of it all, watching the tension build. Watching the old year decay. Letting the rising flood overtake me, to wash away the distress of the last year.