December 25
I was the one on the shore taking pictures, of course, but you can see above how some folks began Christmas morning yesterday. And it's certainly not a typical December scene, but that's the way it's been around here. So warm, it's eerie. A little disturbing, even. But no hand wringing today.
It's beautiful. The cottonwoods in the canyon are ablaze with yellow leaves, the Channel Islands appear near and clear on the horizon, and the light is golden in late afternoon. Moths have been bumping against the screen at night just as in summer, and the frogs are singing, and the air is fragrant with some sun-warmed potpourri of dry grass and chaparral.
Deer have been coming down from the parched backcountry in search of water, and while my daughter was on the phone talking to England, she watched a rangy coyote ambling along the hillside just outside the orchard fence.
Meanwhile, a quirky little roadrunner was making himself at home on the rocks by the solar panels.
We all went for a walk to the very top of Sacate, past the eucalyptus grove, through the oaks, a meandering ascent to an overview above rock-strewn fields and grazing lands.
A pair of hawks took off from fence post perches, gliding and circling in the sky, our own little air show.
Sometimes we heard the sounds of cars traveling far below on Highway 1, and I had a sense of refuge and solace, but also, already, of the pending ending to this holiday visit and the return thereafter to an everyday in dire need of some tending and invention.