Berkeley at Dusk

There is something about dusk that snaps me awake. As if all the world is fully alive one more time before it goes to sleep.I took a walk around my neighborhood in the Berkeley Hills. There's still magic here. The spring air is softly sweet, and though my Ipod was cranking up one of my favorite bands, The New Pornographers, I could still sense the music outside my head phones. I turned them off, and sure enough, the wind was whipping through the hills. I think a storm might be coming in. And the wind, as it sometimes does, plays notes.I walked on, and, feeling adventurous, did what I've been meaning to do for five years -- I plucked two oranges from a tree on the next street over. They felt heavy and ripe. Intermittent rain started to splatter my face. I walked home. I cut into the oranges, imagining them perfect, ripe, dripping with juice. Instead they were sour, and slightly wild.