There are some magical moments in San Diego. One is doing an airport drop off right around sunrise.
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.
The flame opens its maw, engulfing the tree, swallowing it bottom to top, licking at the night sky now roaring.
You can feel winter in the change from the smell of desert rock to ocean brine in the air; the shift of southern sun not quite able to ward the chill from your house’s bones; the orange red mornings and pink dusks like lenses thrown over a picture; the way the Pacific seeps into the air, causing rivers of fog to flow along the canyons. All these and more are winter here.
1. Just after rain against a washed-clean sky, a cloud mountain bloomed luminescent behind the Point. It feels exactly like …
We’ve all seen them: the little stickers people put on their cars that represent them, sometimes a significant other, and some sort of offspring of the child or pet variety or even both.
I spend much of my life hustling through tasks until the day when my real life magically starts. But in September, I decided that this is my real life and I need to actually live it. To put practices in place that feed who I am.