Each time I cruise Sunset Cliffs, going to and from work, the ocean is different. Lately, there’s been high waves, their white tops frazzled by the wind like snow streams being blown off the Eastern Sierra.
Here is to celebrating writing a first draft of my novel. And here is to the ongoing work to make it a story that others will want to read. I’ll be continuing that work—just as soon as I’m done drinking my expensive champagne.
My route strokes along the side of the Pacific along the sides of Sunset Cliffs. Every time there’s a different texture to the trip: marine layer fuzzing the horizon, Santa Ana’s making the air knife sharp, the sweep of clouds catching the light silver or flame, and the blue—so many hues. Beauty’s true color is blue.