quarrel | (no subject)

It's been windy the past couple of days. Very windy. Winter is the time of year in southern California when we actually have weather, and it's a welcome thing for those of us not native to the area. I've had two occasions over the past two days to make the one-block trek to the local strip mall, once to get groceries, once to have my hair cut. Both were all the better for the stiff breeze blowing through.

About half the apartments at my complex have windchimes hung on their balconies. I hadn't realized until writing this how odd that is, given the general scarcity of wind ten months out of the year, but odd or not, they're there, and as I walked along the walkway between buildings in Saturday's twilight, they were all chiming. All afternoon long the wind had been rough enough to rustle trees, rock the metal-framed beach chairs around the pool, and even rattle windows when it put its back into it. Now it was just a steady, healthy breeze. The whole complex was eerily silent for a Saturday night. I heard no cars driving through the parking lot...no parties...no televisions...no conversations or clank of silverware over dinner. There were just the windchimes, and the wind, and me. I made sure to walk slowly.