the_fire_season birdmad In this part of the desert, winter is spring, and spring is the foreboding of summer. the rains fell, leaving the vacant lots and the wild land from the edges of the city all the way up to the edges of the northern forests carpeted in lush green and riots of orange and gold flowers With the first signs of spring and the dry, sighing winds, the orange and gold wildflowers have fallen and blown, leaving only the gaudy bougainvillea to blossom and shed petals at will while the orange blossoms and the olaeanders exhale their perfumes into the breeze. The green gives way to a pale flaxen color and the crunch of wet stalks of weeds and grass give way to the brittle, almost crystalline crackle. The soft and slippery mud, rich and brown has hardened to a pale, powdery tan dust on the surface and a hard-pack just a breath below that. Summer is coming as early as it always does here, when other places are just getting over the last of the thaw and a few just tasting the first of it. By then, i will mostly be ensconced until nightfall, waiting for a lightning strike and feeling like a mouse in a powder keg. 050412 what's it to you? who go blather from