Two days after temps hit an unheard of 103 here in the 'Bu, it rained. Hard.
And this morning, the coastline is swathed in chilly, shifting fog. Go figure.
After the gloom and fog of our alleged summer, these sunrises in which there is actual sun and, thanks to a scrim of clouds, refracted light that shatters and scatters color everywhere, I'm pretty sure it's going to be a while before I can stop shooting the sunrise.
My apologies for being so one-note.
So yeah, yesterday. Hot enough that the official thermometer broke. At least 113 in the city, and in Malibu, an unheard of 103.
This rabbit may have had his back to Maisie on our morning walk, but his ears tracked her ever move. She took her shot but (sorry) quick as a bunny, he was gone. The tiny Labrador never had a chance.
Yes, it's true. My house is for sale. And that's as much as I can bear to say about that. Thanks, Sam Zell, you're a real peach.
Sometimes I think I must have synesthesia because I can hear the light here.
After sporting colorful story poles for the better part of the spring and (alleged) summer, this little trailer was finally dismantled last week.
We would mourn this, the last day of summer, except for the fact that we're still waiting for it to show up.
A couple of anglers early to the beach yesterday morning, bringing home something to fry up for breakfast.
Even without the shortened days and thinning light, the daily shift of the sunrise, edging ever southward, hammers it home -- it's almost autumn.
Because it's been cold here all summer and because this somehow prompts me to bring flowers with warm colors into the house, you're now held prisoner by my fascination with the ROY portion of the visible spectrum.
So we're driving along the canyon road and it's sunny, the pavement dappled with that syrupy late summer light, and under the trees there's a hawk. He's bulky, a graceless silhouette, either drinking from or bathing in a puddle.
We get closer and he hops along, bumps along and I worry he's injured but no, he's just young and still gawky. He gets a grip on his wings and makes it to a branch where I try (and fail) to get a decent shot.
But he's beautiful so here he is anyway.
It's the third year of Pepperdine's 9/11 memorial, a display of flags that stops traffic.
This is the time between, when summer retreats and fall draws near, and only those with their senses tuned off and out can question whether we in California have seasons.
We spent Labor Day in one of my favorite spots, Village Green in the Baldwin Hills.
Roads and parking spaces are relegated to the outer rim of the property, which makes the heart of the place an oasis.
And brought it to the KCRW pie contest to be judged:
It was warm on this walk, warm in a summery way, and the fog bank playing cat and mouse with us through all of July and August and now September, was far, far out to sea.
And so it's here, the annual Kiwanas Club Chili Cookoff and carnival, moved from the vacant swath of land in the center of town (which is now being manicured into a park) and onto another vacant swath of land, where someone wants to build what Malibu so desperately needs: another shopping mall.
The Pier View Diner, before Larry Ellison bought and shuttered it for years and years, was the last of Malibu's cheap and casual seaside spots. Drinks were affordable and, occasionally, even strong. Tables on the deck overlooked the beach. Waiters didn't hover, didn't try to tell you the provenance of your fries.
Now it's gone, something chichi taking its place. Because that's the way of the world here in Malibu, out with the old, in with the expensive and over-done.