133 Mapache Drive, Portola Valley

By May the grass was four feet tall, dusky gold. The ground had hardened into clay. Still we waited well into June to call the mowers, daring the fire; and at the end of day, for all those lingering days, we let the two dogs run loose, while the deer came to graze down by the creek, twitching their ears at the odd noise as our foot-high corgies thrashed and battered the grass a hundred yards away, hot on ten trails, nipping each other's toes.

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