The Days Are Like Nights, The Nights Are Like Oceans
an excerpt

We drove west on Sunset Blvd on a clear, sunny Saturday morning that would have been beautiful almost anywhere else in the country but in L.A. the day was merely typical. Having grown up in Medfield, MA, surrounded by woods, ponds, streams and meadows, Wendy was in constant search for the natural world in her new environment. Temescal canyon's scrub brush and condom-litered trails were the closest bits of nature she had found.

We hiked up the steep, winding paths, talking and laughing. She stopped me suddenly, putting her palm on my chest. "Did you see that?"

"What?"

"A bee!"

I jerked around behind me. "Where? Are you allergic?" I turned back to see her scrambling off the trail and up the hillside. "Where are you going?"

"The bee! I'm following the bee!"

I followed her up to the top of the hill. "Why are you following a bee?"

"Because I love them. Look, see?" She showed me a silver bee pendant pinned to her jean jacket. "They are good luck for me. A good omen."

I looked around for this magical omen bee, but it was gone by the time I made it up the hill. For the first time -- and last -- I worried that Wendy might be crazy.

"I've noticed bees on many of the best days of my life," she said. "After college, I had a graduation party at my parents' house and all my friends came. There was a bee there, too."

"Ever been stung by a bee?"

"Oh yes," she said. "That totally sucks. I hate when that happens. But look," she said, waving her hand out like a magician to show me the Pacific Ocean as if she had discovered and named it herself.