L.A. Nights

It's a strange thing, but last night while I was outside smoking (yes, I know I need to quit), I realized that it was the first time since we moved here (just before Thanksgiving) that it has felt like night. Night, you see, has qualities all itsown in my mind, and I don't mean just the relative lack of natural light.

L.A. is great for those really hot or cold nights, but last night it was chillly. It had a quality of cool that had a lot to do with humidity—you know, that sense that night has actually descended on you. I used to know this feeling well in the Seattle area, and when I have encountered it here in Southern California (all too rarely) it has always reminded me of home.

It's the kind of coolness that signals night but doesn't threaten to kill, the kind that says it should be dark and dry and quiet, the kind that begs those who choose to be in it to think about whatever comes up. Sure, it's not that summer kick-the-can weather that lets you keep the blood pumping without driving you to sweat, but then again, this isn't summer, and I no longer play kick the can. It's good to be home.