| Blown |
[Oct. 10th, 2005|07:19 am]
rejectomorph
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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. |
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