This treatment for a book cover a while back might have been for a steamy jungle somewhere (who knows? Somewhere. A jungle from a dream.) One variation shows an encampment above the foreground fronds. It hangs on my office wall as a remembrance of how I somehow managed to let the white paper speak, and didn't overwork the charcoal.
Today I regard the whitespace steam as mist, the scene as a cool morning, a place of rest.
If it's hot where you are, hotter than it should be, I offer this vision as a palliative.