I'm awake and making Sluggo work at this unaccustomed (and ungodly) hour because the people responsible for maintaining the vacant house next door have chosen this morning to perform their long-delayed tasks. Machinery is cutting the waist-high weeds, now dry and brown. Rakes are sliding along the cracked and neglected pavements. Dust is flying. All is accompanied by whistling. I can't sleep through this.
The people across the street called the cops on them. Well, the yard cops, meaning the fire department. The accumulation of drying weeds had become a hazard in this fire-prone region. It's a cat hazard, too, full of nettles and burrs and foxtails, so it's good that it's getting cleaned up. I just wish they'd chosen to do it later in the day.
When I was in Los Angeles, I learned to sleep through all sorts of things. Cars would rush up and down the driveway outside my window, kids on their way to school would screech and natter, mile-long freight trains would pass along the tracks down the center of the freeway a quarter mile north. I slept through it all. Eventually, I could even sleep through the racket of the circling copper chopper. Now. I'm accustomed to quiet. Notwithstanding that, I could probably go back to sleep were it not for the fact that something has tried to eat my neck. Some insect (disturbed by the cleaning, perhaps) has bitten me, and it itches. Can't sleep through that, for sure.
As I said, Happy Summer Solstice.
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