The Ranch Dance

This morning I walked out of my tiny house and the entry way and small wooden porch were already baked in sun. The rich smell of sun-on-wood is so different from the scent of the thick fog that rolled in a couple mornings ago. When the fog is dense enough, it gathers on the pine tree above my roof, collects, and falls in heavy droplets on the corrugated metal. That morning, I woke early to wander…