It's morning, music is going. I'm drinking coffee on my couch, looking out the window, watching the morning breeze. The leaves lift and flutter as the wind blows through the neighborhood - like fingers in hair. I'm reminded of watching the wind up in the Sierras. Cold mountain air through the pines. Whirring. It's about acquiescence. A leaf can not fight the wind. (But it can change the direction.)
I'm thinking about canyon roads. Hot wind - funneled through human technology, not the hillsides of creosote. The twisting black ribbon. These roads - our playground. I'm being a rare passenger as we track the double yellow. Pressure growing and shifting through the curves. I relax as the adrenaline dumps into my system. Building, I laugh in delight. The shift is slight. Hot wind cooling, becoming moister, less harsh - it comes into my lungs. Then the ocean appears and the heat of the desert is a faint memory.