At seven o’clock we tempted our fatigue and drove some more after a day in both cars. The drive was short and awed very little but definitely calmed and probably inspired at least one of us. “Us” is in this case a both, a daisy chain with one proud link. Dark and the sweet smell of oranges and dust. We arrived at the wrong gate.
A heat wave in Ojai is a depression of hope that one has found paradise. The town’s beauty is ground into the soil so that it is breathed in rather than noticed. Attending to one’s guilt in this air heals one’s past and erases the oppression of the future so there is only now and this.
Some lessons are scattered in the gait of a tortoise roaming around the grounds. Some promises are stuffed against the face of Topa Topa. A numb spark that one judges to be real rather than believes to be true; I’m an unlikely recipient of natural grace.