The winds are coming. The Devil's Breath, Santa Ana winds. It is fire season and the outside the wind is coming in short, violent breaths. The bamboo off my balcony is fighting itself for rigidity. I dig this. I hope last week's rain dampened the world enough so that it isn't tinder for the days that are coming. I hate when the world burns. If I could I would sleep outside tonight. Instead I'll go for a walk and enjoy the beginning of cold in the air. Sleep deep and alone.
I'm swinging back into myself, it is a good feeling. I am stepping back into the fitted body of a poet. I'm a little worn in places but mostly comfortable.