Summer nights, and G.P. prowls far past dark unless we can get her in early. The slightest breeze moving the foliage of toyon and cream bush fascinates her, and she has to go out to investigate. Out ’til midnight one evening when no amount of coaxing could get her back, we feared she’d fallen prey to the foxes or big cats who move through, who we love to see or hear move through as the paralyzing heat dissipates and they take to their trails. Then the quiet of the late hours settles, and it doesn’t lift again until the power blowers, trimmers, and mowers start up in the morning. Such ambition. When they’re silent, I think I hear the Doug-firs growing with barely perceptible crackles. And G.P. turns up in the skylight, begging to come in through the screen.
After I finish a sentence I’ll figure out how to coax her to the door. First things first.