Make It Stop!

My ears have been dulled by hours of listening to the fan whirring in the window. The fan hasn't been much help, either. I still feel as though I had a sunburn. Morning light reveals that a haze still covers the valley, and above that, there are a few tiny, raisin-like clouds that look as though they'd contain no more moisture than a rat's bladder. The birds have begun chirping, but they don't sound particularly cheerful. I think they are as weary of the heat as I am. Also, I forgot to water the lawn again! It's going to be as dry as the Sahara soon. My brain simply will not work this time of year.

Frank Lloyd Wright's Ennis-Brown house has been included on the World Monuments Watch list of the 100 most endangered sites for 2006. I always liked Wright's handful of vaguely Mayan concrete block houses around Los Angeles. I've never gotten inside any of them, but I remember catching glimpses of them from nearby streets (all were pretty well hidden in their landscaping), and when I first discovered the architecture section at the Alhambra Public Library when I was eleven or twelve years old, I found Wright's drawings of these buildings, especially the Ennis-Brown and Millard houses, quite captivating. In the grand scheme of things, I'm sure that the impending collapse of one small building is of little consequence to the world, but I hope the Ennis-Brown house can be saved, if only because by its existence it shames our shabby contemporary culture of mass construction and pretentious McMansions, and reminds us of the unfulfilled potential of American architecture which might yet be brought to fruition.

Speaking of houses, I noticed a few minutes ago that a mass of ants are crawling up the wall outside my front door. They will have to be dealt with. As much as I like ants (as long as they stay outside, and don't bite me), I know their potential for destruction. I've seen them hollow out the branches of oak trees and bring them crashing down. This commonplace house will certainly never make anybody's list of endangered monuments, but it's the only dwelling space I've got. I don't intend to let it be eaten! No formication on my watch, you little multi-legged buggers!

Sultry Night

Shadowed from the waxing moon's light, the space under the mulberry tree is dark and sultry. I lurk there, watching the pale street and inhaling the dank odor emitted by the overheated soil and last autumn's leaves moldering under the wild plum bushes. The night is quiet. Very few crickets are chirping, and those all distant. It has been a hard season for them, I suppose. I picture their dessicated husks moldering among the leaves. The loudest sound is the tricking of water from the garden hose and the high-pitched hum of the pipes. I have at last remembered to irrigate the sourgrass. The lawn will have its turn later.

Occasionally, when she turns her glance on me, I see from the porch the glow of my cat's eyes reflecting a shaft of moonlight which falls there. I wonder what other creatures might be watching me from the darkness? Now and then, I hear a moth hit the window screen, and there is sometimes a soft rustle among the fallen leaves. A rodent, perhaps, or a large insect? I have no idea. All I see are faint hints of houses, the silhouettes of trees, the gray pavement, and the cat eye's shining from the patch of moonlit porch. I imagine the pines filled with staring owls. The thought pleases me.