Cycling in the South Bay

Last year I slept outside on the deck for several months, but then, when it started getting really cold, I began sleeping indoors. Spring sprung but I remained inside. Summer showed up, and even with the door and windows open I stayed inside.

Three nights ago I dragged my blanket and pillow out to a patch of dirt behind the garage, laid them down, and tried to sleep. There were no sounds besides crickets and the neighbor down the hill, who was shooting his pistol in the house. After he ran out of bullets, or all the blood had run out, there was no noise at all.

The full moon was blocked by the house, but it was as bright as a floodlight and the garage threw a giant shadow over the yard. The human in its natural state, like other critters, doesn’t like sleeping unexposed. I kept waking up and swatting ants that crawled all over my arms and neck. Mostly they were imaginary ants but every now and then a real one would squish nicely between my fingers and I’d go back to an uneasy sleep.

The ground was harder than the floor I usually sleep on, which has a carpet, a Persian rug atop that, and a blanket on top of that, a veritable Sealy Posturpedic. I kept shifting to find the right spot on the hard earth, then waking up and shifting again.

Finally the moon crested the house and I had a monster headlight beating down on my closed eyes, causing them to open. Across the way the mountain peaks looked foreboding. My sleep relapse was fitful.

Morning came, the pre-dawn faint line across the peaks.

I got up quickly. There is no luxury sleeping late on a patch of dirt. I folded the blankets and tossed them in the garage. Everything was cool; my arms had gotten chill in the late hours. I went inside to feed the cat and to feed my coffee habit. Pepper had killed a couple of grasshoppers and left them as offerings. He wondered where I’d spent the night, so I told him.

He scarfed down his treats and kibbles and I took my coffee out onto the porch to watch another sunrise. Pepper sat next to me. “The sunrise never gets old, does it?” I asked him.

He purred.

END

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