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In the beginning there was discovery. A confusion of elements. The first snowfall of impossible change. Old lives undone, left behind. Strange faces, made familiar. New nightmares, to challenge sleep. New friends, to feel safe with. Only then comes control. The need to impose order unto chaos, through determination through study, through struggle. All in defiance of a thundering truth. They’re here, and the earth shudders underfoot.

"Oleander time," she said. "Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind." She held up her large hand and spread her fingers, let the desert dryness lick through. My mother was not herself in the time of the Santa Anas. I was twelve years old and I was afraid for her. I wished things were back the way they had been. -- White Oleander

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