December ups the heat. Under the house is not much cooler, the wrens keep clear of stacked-up surfboards, water pumps, nets, broken dressers of hardware. Blue glaze outside, under here is shadow dust. The curious case of holidays: still finding something to do for an hour. Croft of tins, wire, yes garden tools, one of those places visited once a year, maybe, yet familiar as the back of my hand. Time for turning over planters for new herbs, rivet them in fertile mix before the cool change. I wish for a rainstorm by afternoon, something oceanic and electrical, then drenching.