Strange, strange light these days, yellow and flat, filtered through a scrim of dust. The santanas have been blowing for three days and everyone's on edge. Lips cracked, eyes red, skin sucked dry of moisture. Neighbors have gone from speaking to nodding to simply blinking hello.

Kids have nosebleeds. Dogs howl at nothing and coyotes answer back. Fat sparks arc from the cats' fur. And on the beach this morning, a single windblown chair, facing Catalina.