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I am accustomed to sleep and in my dreams to imagine the same things that lunatics imagine when awake.

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  1. I often wonder if part of my desert malaise has to do with the lack of Spring.  One day, it’s chilly.  The next?  BAM.  Warm and sunny, and it just keeps getting hotter until it’s nearly unbearable. Back in Oregon, there’s a slower warm up to summer.  It can be (and often is) still chilly enough in May to warrant a coat and cap as you meander down by Bear Creek (pictured)…or while you walk through the quickly vanishing blossoming pear orchards in Jacksonville.  February is wet and chilled in Oregon; you wake to the patter of rain on the roof, you walk through your days damp to the knees, and you always have at least 2 pair of shoes sitting atop the dryer.  Vegas? Windy; the kind of wind you can’t easily escape.  It pushes, blows, rocks, wails, and screams around and through everything.  Every attempt to stay warm is met with a mocking tug of your scarf by the winds.  Forget trying to keep your home warm; doesn’t happen.  The cold seeps in, no matter what. Then?  It’s gone, and you long for it.  You pray for it, hoping to feel the relief of what becomes (in your mind) the sweet chill of winter. And the cycle begins anew.

    I often wonder if part of my desert malaise has to do with the lack of Spring.  One day, it’s chilly.  The next?  BAM.  Warm and sunny, and it just keeps getting hotter until it’s nearly unbearable.

    Back in Oregon, there’s a slower warm up to summer.  It can be (and often is) still chilly enough in May to warrant a coat and cap as you meander down by Bear Creek (pictured)…or while you walk through the quickly vanishing blossoming pear orchards in Jacksonville.  February is wet and chilled in Oregon; you wake to the patter of rain on the roof, you walk through your days damp to the knees, and you always have at least 2 pair of shoes sitting atop the dryer.  Vegas? Windy; the kind of wind you can’t easily escape.  It pushes, blows, rocks, wails, and screams around and through everything.  Every attempt to stay warm is met with a mocking tug of your scarf by the winds.  Forget trying to keep your home warm; doesn’t happen.  The cold seeps in, no matter what.

    Then?  It’s gone, and you long for it.  You pray for it, hoping to feel the relief of what becomes (in your mind) the sweet chill of winter.

    And the cycle begins anew.