Fire danger? That's one of the perpetual questions around here and, like all county fire stations, No. 71 in Zuma always has an answer.
A pair of ducks have taken up residence in this stretch of the creek, where a one-lane road forms a bit of a dam. We don't see the female much these days -- she must be sitting on a nest somewhere -- but the mallard keeps himself busy swimming and fishing and, when the mood strikes him, directing traffic.
The tide was low so we walked east instead of west:
And saw the sun rise in one of my favorite spots:
We had 12 hours of nonstop rain here and everywhere you look, water is moving.
This creek bed, dry all year, suddenly filled:
It joined forces with Sierra Creek:
I'd love to know the path it took, over rocks, through scrub, down the mountainside, until it emerged here, where this bit of SoCal meets the sea.
Yes, I stood in the rain and took this photo of Sierra Creek for you. Now it's me and Patrick Berry, battling it out over the Sunday crossword. Thank you, rain gods. (And Will Shortz.)
Yep, my house here in the Santa Monica mountains is for sale. And no, I'm not sure yet what's next. We can talk about that in the days to come.
Check out my story on Native Intelligence. Lots more pix there.
I painted my house. By myself. On the world's tallest ladder.
OK, so the photo exaggerates. A little.
It actually looked like this:
Stuff we saw on the first (or was it the second?) day of spring.
And look -- a Muffinhead:
It was cold.
Later, at Bluffs Park, the light (or was it the photog?) went a little crazy:
And look! A Muffinhead!
The rain yesterday blew through here sideways, made the living room feel like the floor of a glass-bottomed boat.
And there's downtown LA, caught beneath a ribbon of storm.
Woke up craving a cinnamon roll from the Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque. Do you think they deliver?
(Photo: from the archives. Sentiment: happening right now.)
Our lake here is fed by a hot spring which ebbs and flows. On mornings when it's running fast, the mist comes up.
You know the cliche 'leaden sky'? Today we've got it. The way it happens here, though, it's beautiful. The grays, when you look, are deep, deep blues, and they shift. It's like you feel the earth on its axis.
Oh -- and it's quiet (maybe moist air isn't friendly to sound?) so when a wave sweeps through you hear the sand move, get rearranged.
Today, where the creek pools and the tide moves in and ducks come each year to breed, a hawk flew by. A bunch of crows followed but no one called out, not the hawk or the crows and in the quiet, you could hear their wings.
It all happened so fast, the Little Dog and I walking along the trail, a rustle in the leaves, and then this hawk, exploding out of the underbrush.
Out of the crispy landscape that is the Santa Monica Mountains, the wildflowers are beginning to emerge.
One of my favorite things about vintage mobile homes (mine is circa 1973) are the names. My place in the Cove was a Meteor. Next door was a Golden Mansion. This week, while painting this house, I came across the given name of Casa Mulholland: Majestic Manor.
Just typing that makes me proud.
He's been gone two months tomorrow and the Little Dog and I, we're still listening for him. (That's why you'll find even more photos just below.)
It was blowing so hard during this walk in Bluffs Park that even the Tiny Labrador, as stocky and low-slung as she is, was knocked off course.
We're caught between seasons here, the green of spring in the creekside trees and grasses, the mountain sycamores still bone white, still awaiting their vernal cue.
Last night, there was a ring around the moon, this morning, red sky. According to weather lore, this adds up to rain.
We shall see...
You could buy your newspapers and books and magazines at one of the drug stores or grocery stores in town, but then you wouldn't have the delightfully analog Malibu Newsstand experience, browsing a surprising wealth of unexpected titles, often next to a bold-faced name, and being helped by people who have worked there for years, whose sense of humor and irony pop up in conversation and in the hand-lettered signs, which change every week.
The shriek you may have heard yesterday afternoon? That would be yours truly in the moment I reached for the hose and the hose reached back.
(It's a Pacific bull snake, friendly and useful, as long as you're not a gopher.)