“You can’t beat the weather in California”

Yes you can.  Unless, of course, you aspire to eliminate all discomfort, variety, and dynamic from your life.  Seasons are a time reference.  Without them, before you know it you are 42 with color-leeched tattoos and a blond ponytail yelling “yeah! perpetual summer!”.  I was weaned on the colored seasons and cold coasts of the East.  I inhabit four places every year.  I know my home through the filters green and white and blue and amber.  Each filter brings different features of my environment into focus.  The perfumes of a budding forest and savoring reacquaintance with the sun.  The sound of summer canopy drunk with rain.  A field before a wood, all dressed in white, sinless, pure, and blank.

 

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