Nights are chill, days, hot,
With summer still three months away.
We live chaparral.
The songs of the hawk,
Owl, mockingbird, and blue jay:
They are at home here.
Witch hazel and sage,
Coast live oak and sycamore,
Mesquite and madrone
Tinge the air with spice,
Both wake and calm the senses.
We breathe chaparral.
