Dear Lake Powell,

You are hot. 

So hot, paper spontaneously combusts,

people go to great heights and take great plunges to find relief,

judgment becomes fuzzy,

unprovoked hornets sting to put themselves out of their misery,

and people hallucinate, believing they can walk on water.

Water is retained,

my mother-in-law is forced to open a drive-up beverage bar,

and Nick gets an equally ‘hot’ new ‘do, circa 1950.

Visitors suffer from dehydration,

and bouts of delirium,

causing some to ‘lose their grip’.(And others to fear them finding it…)

Apparently, it’s so hot at Lake Powell that money burns holes right through pockets. Right, Keith? 

(Those are expensive mussels you didn’t have…)

:)