Ojai

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.

Virginia Petrucci writer in Ojai

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.

Virginia Petrucci writer in Ojai

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Lightning Over Ventura

The night begged its own seat in the calendar of seasons. A warmth but a triumph over fire and a confusion over coast.

A frenzy, like lightning it was, like an invitational mystery with a jocular humor. For girls, such skies. Much like the girls I used to be.

The scenes I used to take to and the love drug storms I used to make fall short of this graceful math. This lightning with no wind, this rain with no reason. I am not for such delights. I am not for seeing what is already there.

He times a surprise and I shorten a tantrum. Evolve, is it? And without revolt?

A handicapped breath gives way to a kidnapped cloud; we are not alone, one hopes. I am ever alone, I spoke. My eyes only for ghosts.