This morning, first thing, a hummingbird right up against the window, syringe stuck in an orange blossom. The orange tree spindly under the bully loquat that spreads out and up with greedy health. Everywhere citrus trees in bloom, the trees still hung with fruit. Walk past the post office--that smell--I look around, as if somebody somewhere had called my name, and I see the creamy flowers, with their aura of a 50s country club wedding.
Coming back from Utah Sunday. Step out of the airport, sudden smell of Northern California: eucalyptis, bark of pine trees, that vanilla scent. Catching the shuttle to the longterm parking lot it hit me I hadn't seen anyone un-caucasian all week. Snow: won't go there.