Monday, November 12, 2012

The Cold Early Morning

The santanas are beginning to blow and the air temperature is down in the region of the thermometer that scares native-born Californians such as myself. I look out the window and see leaves being blown off my plum tree. It's time to harvest the last of the leaves of my lemon pepper plant which is being beaten sideways along with the remaining bloom on my Georgia Peace rose bush, its leaves being torn asunder along with the leaves of its fellows in the rose bed. My oak tree and those of my neighbors are being freed of seemingly millions of acorns adorning them in great bunches which drop to the ground in a great botanical attack on the earth. The native peoples of the Santa Ana Mountains explained these great attacks by acorns as the promise of a wet winter to come. It may be the promise of global warming.
Rupert is confused and scared and he's cold and the wind makes noise and Rupert hates noise and he is bewildered by the senseless motion of the plants outside his favorite window. He hovers close to a little space heater so that he can warm up sufficiently to make the dash from the heater to the warmth of my now abandoned bed and to dive beneath the covers where he will hang out and sleep until feline biology requires he make the frigid journey to his cat box. He will then warm up again and return to the comfort of his daytime sleeping place.
The no longer venerable Los Angeles Times reports that southland temperatures are tanking and winds increasing and it warns of the possibility of freeways being frozen over for the early morning commute and the return late at night today and for tomorrow's early morning commute. Southern California has a promised visitation from black ice a phenomenon usually only found on our roads in the far northern reaches of the state and on mountain roads in the Sierra and other high ranges of California.
Our local firefighters have been summoned into action by the wailing of the ancient World War II civil defense siren sitting on top of the firehall. The reason for its wailing as yet unknown. Perhaps it is cleaning up an early morning traveler laid out on the road, perhaps it is a medical aid. Hopefully it is not a fire. Time will tell.
But thanks be to the Great Provider there is Coffee. I crave it. I need it. It humanizes me. I shall drink it and warm my innards and fire up my soul.

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