Not There

We got some clouds and even a few hours of overcast for the first full day of official summer. This made the air a bit muggy, which made me think of the ocean again. When the sun was setting, its last light caught the tops of the pines, and those which have a few clumps of dry, brown needles among the green then sported the same colors as L.A.'s ubiquitous palm trees often do at sunset. The light and color and mugginess and the overcast differentiating itself into streaks of cirrus clouds all white and pink and lavender was almost enough to make me abandon the mountains and flee to Santa Monica, the 500 or so mile distance notwithstanding. Instead, I had another bottle of beer. I'll manage to drag myself through another inland summer I suppose, as I always have before. All my heat-induced afternoon dozes, though, will end up with the sound of the Pacific in them. I know me.