Leaving La Llorona
Darkness comes early to our sleepy neck of the woods. Sunshine dapples through ancient oak trees as squirrels give chase through the myriad of branches. Peacocks strut and preen, their honking cries indicating the liminal times of the day, namely sunrise and sunset. The creek behind our house, run-off from the unattended graveyards a little further on up the hill, provides a steady stream of white noise. It's an oasis from the bustle of the 21st century. A place where the neighbors always say hello and you know every car that travels down the hidden streets. We look out for each other in the canyon. It's always been the way here. Even from when the first cabin was built. Of course back then it was a hideout for bandits and bootleggers, until it became a weekend vacation spot for the then newly glittering Hollywood crowd. There's a vibe to this canyon. A feeling that is hard to shake. Most likely because it's old. The hills are old. The trees are old. The roots run deep....