At my feet the dust swirls in an inch-high storm, threatening to suck at my right big toe. "A foot fetishist, eh?" I laugh. The miniature whirlwind rears up indignantly, then attacks. The effect is not at all unpleasant. Realizing that it is having no real effect, the whirlwind backs off. "Hey, where ya going?" I chase it down the block, but it dissipates. Nature, it seems, does not want to be my live-in lover.