In the Sacramento Valley it only rains in the winter. Dry summers, rainy winters. And this winter, not nearly enough rain. We’re looking at drought this summer, farmers without water for crops, fallow fields, higher produce prices in the stores. But that’s summer, now it is early spring. Bird song, buds, flowers, new leaves. Blue sky, endless. Everything feels fresh, clean. What do I know? Nothing.
Well after midnight. The smell of a skunk somewhere in the distance, borne by the slight wind. From the park across the street I hear the familiar sound of the owl that lives there. Isn’t it sweet? The wild can come to us anywhere, even in my city. Two nights past the full moon.