my kitchen window

I can't see out of my kitchen window because I don't currently have one. I hope to one day (dream house you will be mine!). In the meanwhile, I enjoy from my kitchen the view afforded to me by my double-paned patio door, which can yield, if the universe is feeling so inclined, glowing sunsets and signs of every change in the seasons.

Immediately in my line of sight is a great big tree that stands lushly green in the spring and summer, yellows dramatically for fall, and finally strips down to its bare branches for winter. Just a month or so ago it stood flaming orange against the hot pink sunset and it was stunning. Then almost what felt like a split second later, it heaped all of its leaves into a soggy yellow pile on the earth below it while the sky leaked with much-awaited rain.

At night I see twinkling Christmas lights and, once the sun goes down, a whole lot of black sky. Occasionally a sunset won't breath its usual hot pink and orange fire but will fall cool into dusk instead. Such sunsets highlight the horizon yellow and the sky above it gradients upward from a light blue to the black of the stratosphere. I think of these muted sunsets as the sun's way of bowing out quietly, of yielding to the crisp December cold.

In the mornings the view outside my window is simplest. If the sky is clear, I can see the jagged trunk and branches of the pond tree. And what a tree it is! It grows no leaves all year round and rises stalwartly high into the sky to provide a landing pad for head papa goose to survey his pondy kingdom. I can see General Papa Goose from my patio on most days before the geese migrate south, and on days that I can't see him, I can hear him, trumpeting away at his humble fowl contingency.

Also I see roofs, but those are less poetic. Unless I remind myself of Bert's roof jaunt from Mary Poppins.

So goes the view from my third floor patio, from which there is more majesty than I ever would have expected.

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i'm joining up with the #lifecapturedproject

My Personal Ode to the California Coast

how many times have i been up and down the California coast and yet these jagged rocks aren't any less impressive on this umpteenth viewing. this coast never changes. there are always heavy winds when i get out of the car, and my hair blows every which way, and i struggle to see the rocks for the sunlight glinting off the water. always i can hear the ocean breathing, it's waves rushing and crashing and rolling. no, this coast never changes, only my state of mind does. i've traveled the coastline with many different companions over the years, at times feeling vulnerable, at others impatient. this time i felt neither. this time i felt loved, and like all the time in the world was mine.

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inevitably the road winds away from the coastline and through overgrown farmland and abandoned stables that once were worked but now stand untouched by all but those who crawl or lope. cobwebs crop up, moss thickens, grass sprouts with wild abandon. on each drive through this landscape i marvel that people used to live here and that some still do. this is not as untamed a wilderness as other parts of the united states but it is a wilderness nevertheless, far removed from california's hustle and bustle. 

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structures like these are california zen. this: a non-denominational chapel meant for individual prayer and meditation. please respect it's sanctity. it makes me wonder, did a lifetime of california living birth my non-denominational spirituality or is it a happy coincidence that my heart feels thankful that places like this exist here? this chapel is dedicated to the memory of a young navy aviator, artist and zoologist, and designed by james hubbell, a self-proclaimed leader in the use of green building materials. this space couldn't scream california any louder. it is maintained; it is pristine.

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i don't know why i was surprised to learn that california has a lost coast. isn't it just like this cheeky state to have a twinkle in its eye? here: sunrise on the lost coast at shelter cove, witnessed on the side of a cliff.

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after breathing the sunrise in on top of the cliff, we climbed the stairs to the beach below. i walked along the beach with j and my two favorite quadrupeds. the sand was not fine or worn but black with rocks and strewn with groupers. sigmar and sophie bounded up, down, and around the rocks like native mountain goats. they bothered the seagulls, disrupted the tide pools, and rightly avoided the colony of sea lions sunbathing on the more immersed rocks offshore. all the while, i inhaled the salt air and enjoyed the warmth of the sun as it fell that very particular way upon the beach, unadulterated and so very golden.