Wind-blown
The heat of the santanas, that's the first thing. Then the motion. Your house rocks, your car rocks, you're pretty sure that, with one more hot and howling blast, you'll jump out of your skin. And then there's the way things smell.
These winds suck moisture from everything they touch, send the molecules spinning. Sage and roses and pepper trees, eucalyptus and pine and a newly-waxed car. Up at the barn, where only plants the deer and gophers disdain can survive, the lavender gives up its heavy purple scent, thick and dizzying.
© 2003-2008 • About LA
Observed • Contact the editor
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