It’s 7:57 and already relatively warm.
Warm. Dry. Breezy. There is an energy in
the air. Grandma Jean would probably call
it “earthquake” weather.
Sirens now. And Bob Dylan. And Harley
Davidson. Creamy soy, coffee, spiced
with cinnamon and nutmeg. Indian
summer. Birds chirping. A trickle
of water. Indian summer in Benicia.