The lower basin has begun to cool. An hour before dusk the mercury swoops toward lower registers. Block after block of over watered lawns lay blanketed beneath condensed vapor. Infant tule fog. Come morning, the desert sun, an over ripe tomato, lingers over coffee. Quietly rising mid-day, our pensive blue cresent, breaking from the work week schedule, scans the news. Holding a bruin's belly promise, she'll gain girth steadily. I watch from below, apprehensively plotting a grand mother's winter garden.