The Santa Anas blew hard last night, and this morning we woke to giant palm fronds draped everywhere in the back yard and blankets of leaves and flowers covering the front lawn. Sophie has had some very big, prolonged seizures, which I'm going to blame on the hot, dry winds, and I continue to tamp down residual rage. Blame it on the winds.
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen.