Burning Out

It's been a long time since the deer have been by. They must be getting enough food nearer the undeveloped woodlands, and have no need to browse among our poor flowers. If I were a deer, I wouldn't come around here either.

Sluggo gave me more than the usual trouble yesterday, and LJ was being odd, too. Comment pages in the new default style were not showing the active script at the top, but had instead all the links in a column at the bottom of the page. I don't know if it was the result of a bug, or some strange experiment hacked out by someone disgruntled with the new style.

Only a few days remain of the summer from hell, and I'm glad to see it go, but I'm not feeling optimistic about autumn. I'm missing Los Angeles more than I have at any time since I came to this place. I'd sacrifice a goat for a horneado burrito from Campos, or some decent sushi. But nothing can be done. I guess I'll up my beer consumption, instead. Look for drunken rants in the future. They can't be any worse than this, I'm sure.

Dry

Some days bring odd images to my mind. Today, the warm, dry desert breeze which has flowed steadily from the north has brought a sense of lassitude. I keep thinking of a door hanging open, slowly swinging back and forth. I get the feeling that nobody is home. It is like capturing an image from a dream while wide awake. I'd like to see the rest of the dream, but the door is all I get.

I went out and got my head partly shorn. Hair no longer tickles my ears. That's better. The rose bushes need shorn, too. They are full of dead flowers I've never gotten around to removing. I've actually been enjoying the sight of the dried blossoms. They suit my mood. Sooner or later I'll have to cut them, though, so new flowers will grow. But I am filled with reluctance.

I did get the few oak leaves which had already fallen cleaned up, and a bit of watering done. In the dry air, the dampness form the watering vanished in only a few minutes. The day insists on being itself. Its arid serenity seems incongruous with the air of uncertainty that now prevails. I watch the few puffs of drifting cloud. They have nothing to do with me.