I didn’t sleep well last night.
I woke around three to my window rattling. Branches of a pepper tree swung against the glass. A low moan chilled the night. I instantly knew what was up. They had arrived. The Santa Ana’s. I’ve been waiting for them with vigor all autumn. The mania they infuse, the destruction. It’s inspiring. Invigorating. I can’t help but love them. Love them despite the nightmares they cause (after falling back asleep I woke up again two hours later screaming myself out of a dream), the trees they knock down, and wildfires they ignite.
When you fear something as much as I’ve always feared the Santa Ana’s, all that is left is to surrender in awe. I used to dread them all summer when I was young. A friend told me they scramble brains with their positive ions, and I read somewhere that the murder rates in Los Angeles rocket this time of year. Regardless, I believe positive ions feed creativity. Making the “scrambled brain” feeling (and higher crime rate) worth it.
I always write best during wind season.
Not that I like murder.
Or think that the wind is an excuse for crime.
I just like to write.