October 10th, 2005

crows

Blown

Breezy, the night brought mild desert air to rustle the oaks and sprinkle acorns and pine cones about. I nearly got smacked on the head by one of the latter, but it only bounced on the driveway and then rolled against my foot. My lucky streak continues. If the lucky weather continues, there will soon be more and even warmer nights when the desert wind comes down the mountains, and the owls will hoot and the raccoons romp among the trees. There's something exotic about this place when that wind arrives, and a sense of excitement appears to enliven even the most stolid beasts. That includes me.

Various writers, such as Raymond Chandler and Joan Didion, have interpreted the Santa Ana winds which often sweep Los Angeles this time of year as being somehow malevolent, and inducing murderous thoughts in the citizens. I never found this to be true. The city always seemed to me to be exhilarated by the winds, and it is the same here. Everywhere in California that's lucky enough to get them, the desert winds of fall are a delight, even if they do sometimes grow strong enough to take down a power line or two. The only threat comes from the possibility of fire, which the dry wind tends to whip into a destructive frenzy. As long as everybody is careful with their matches, the winds remain one of the great delights of the season. I hope we have more tonight.
caillebotte_the orangerie

Half

There's just a bit less than half a moon tonight. If the autumn haze which has lingered over the valley for the last few nights remains, then at moonset it will look like a big segment of an orange hanging on the horizon. An orange orange segment. It bothers me a bit that English uses exactly the same word for the fruit and the color. I prefer the Spanish words, naranja and anaranjado. They are differentiated. They roll nicely. They can each be rhymed. I also like the way Spanish differentiates between a live fish, pez, and fish on a plate, pescado, which is the past participle of the verb pescar, to fish. Fish and fished. I wonder if the people who named Pez, the candy, knew what the name meant in Spanish? Fish candy. Ech.

I'm babbling. An hour got sucked out of my evening by an unexpected task, and I've yet to get my rhythm back. Oh, more stuff to do now. Later, my brain will come back, I think.