It’s a sullen spring morning in Southern California. 
 The gray atmosphere sticks to everything in the living room-- 
 the sofas, the mounted tv, the tall bookcase, the record player. 
 It’s spring in Southern California 
 not the one with beaches for blocks 
 and congested freeways weaving skyscrapers, 
 coughing up cars from one exit to another. 
 No, not that one. 
 It’s springtime in the desert. 
 Where it rains in random intervals throughout April.
 Inland, where heat sweeps in with the Northern winds 
 and days stick to you in the shade 
 while you’re pushed up against a swamp cooler 
 meant to lull the heat beating through your single paned window 
 in your two-bedroom home.  
 A rescue pittie, named Luna, lies beneath the living room’s bay window.
 Her panting on the tiled floor is interrupted by a sound 
 that, at first, human ears cannot tune, 
 and then her toned brindled build pops onto all fours. 
 She stares through the window without blinking. 
 Then...
  
 The sky cracks 
 bellows a roar
 from the throat 
 of the north
 barreling towards Earth 
 like full wine casks
 down a steel stairway.
 Luna waits at watch
 with furrowed hairs 
 lining the ridge 
 of her spine
 her anxiety heightened
 by the possible descent 
 of the one they call Zeus.