Spring

Lovely Mediterranean weather. Heartbreakingly lovely. Light Santa Ana winds have swept the chronic particulate matter from the atmosphere. The middle distances are crisp, magnified, hyper-real. I think the hills to the east have browned between daybreak and noon.

Days like this used to mean bobbing on a fiberglass plank in the ocean, an ocean usually as torpid and greasy as the masses laying out up on the sand, making unanswered supplications to the gods of freak outside sets, surrounded by too many other people. Now it means to me mostly that I don't do that anymore.