#217

The house reveals itself in layers. The patio on the east side, warm in the morning sun, with the apricot tree and the wood bench, a respite in the heat of the afternoon, the jasmine and the ivy creeping over the adobe wall. Not quite ripe apricots falling and rolling on the roof, ready for a raccoon’s meal.

The garden on the west side, a patch of grass, just large enough for the dog to find solace in different spots. The roses, pink, red, crimson, white, each bush responding to the warmth in different ways - the pink, mostly done for now, the crimson, enjoying a late bloom.

Over in the corner, lavender, busy with the sound of bees - bees that don’t bother you - the kind that keep you company. A meditative sound, the buzzing they create.

Indoors, the brick floors, old, solid, warm in the afternoon, but cool enough to walk barefoot and feel relief in the dry heat. The way the light hits the piano of an afternoon, the golden rays of sun that push through the second bedroom - that air that dries the bathroom after a shower. The main bedroom, a dark and cool place, no westerly windows, but adobe walls of protection - enough to not need even a touch of a/c.

In the mornings, the spotted towhee wakes me at sunrise with its call. Consistent and sweet, it reminds me that it’s nearly time to get up, but not quite yet. It continues throughout the morning hours until the sun reaches a point that it understands means, give it a rest for a minute, and it quiets down and returns to its nest. The other afternoon, at least 10 different bird types were in the vicinity - the songs recorded on the app that tells me what they are. I sat in a symphony of their songs - each one distinct, but when blended, a merciful kind of thing.

The creeks and cranks of the house, still settling after more than 100 years, giving its very best, its kindest sense of quietness and protection. More than walls, more than a roof — an oasis in the high desert.

Mallow
Rose
Lavender

Mint
Rosemary
Apricot