The universe in its infinite wisdom has decided to grant me a balcony. After eight years of whining about the inadequate one we had in our former home, I am fully appreciative. Even if eyesight must concede that is in fact a balconette, it has the redeeming feature of offering a view of the mountains.
On clear days they seem strangely near. Then at dusk, languorously late now in the summer, the neon lights come on. The palm trees sharpen in silhouette. The downstairs neighbor starts playing music on his balconette, invariably some homey country tune while he burns his dinner on the barbecue.
And the mountains are not all. There is a whole wall of honeysuckle. There's a row of young olive trees and some unnamed purple wildflower and a giant old cypress to behold. The hummingbirds visit sometimes.
A great sense of peace is to be found in this handkerchief-sized piece of the world.