Long-legged birds in the pearly light this morning:

Moving in unison:

Focused on the task at hand.

Whatever the ocean is doing on any particular day, it looks exotic through the pair of (identical, though it doesn't seem like it here) openings in a neighbor's wall.

Ever since finding those two barn owls that someone had shot in an oak grove in the Santa Monica mountains -- a federal crime, btw -- I think about owls a lot. We hear them here at night, sometimes see them hunting, their flight swift and utterly silent.

So this story today in the NYT (it's been online all week, with lots of cool extras) is fascinating. The barn owls those boys killed? Turns out their species has its own language, the story says.

That's a burrowing owl in these photos, one of a series of out-sized statues in Malibu's Legacy Park. And that's the camera shy Miss Maisie this morning, serving oh-so-reluctantly as a scale conversion calculator.

Trying to come up with a size comparison for this flower, growing alone near a patch of sage. Smaller than a dime, this flower was. Smaller than the button on a dress shirt.

Oh! The collar button on a dress shirt? That's how small it was.

And look at all the detail.

Local weather outlets have been predicting a "wind event" for us here at the coast and dear readers, it has arrived.

If it wasn't nailed up or battened down last night, it went flying.

This morning, with low-hanging fruit disposed of (some of it literally fruit -- the street's lined with loquats and lemons and tangerines), with wind chimes sounding a ceaseless alarm, the gusts now go after loosened tiles and weakened gates, palm trees, the intrepid hummingbord fighting for a sip from the feeder.

Here's the sun this morning, just because.

Out on the ocean, meanwhile, vapor; water and salt torn loose from the waves, spinning, arcing, lending form to our invisible visitor.

Parked on a dead-end dirt road with a nice view of the Pacific, it doesn't look like DianaLA's gently mouldering ride is moving any time soon.

I love how, amid the extravagance of the annual giant coreopsis bloom, the prickly pear cactus on Point Dume reminds us that water in these parts is scarce.

Translucent cell walls:

A bit of captive sea water:

Slanting sunset light and voila, beach gems.

It was 38 degrees when I shot this photo and while I know that those of you reading from the frozen tundra places where that's picnic weather, here in Malibu, we call it winter.

Which is fine, since it's so very pretty.

Now excuse me as I go explore Craigslist housing options on Kauai, where it's only 'winter'.

It was standing room only at the observation platform at Point Dume over the weekend, and no wonder -- a cluster of sea lions had abandoned the rocks in favor of the shallows, where the adults lazed on their backs and the youngsters frolicked.

My favorite part were the guesses by each new group of hikers about what, exactly, they were seeing in the water.

"Otters?" one man said.

"Beavers!" a little boy yelled.

Nope, sea lions, basking in the sun in the blue, blue, blue Pacific.

The hills are aglow at the Point Dume headlands, home to one of the most beautiful coreopsis blooms on the California coast.

Whether growing alone:

Or en masse:

It's a spectacular show.

Fair warning -- parking at the headlands is severly limited. And don't be tempted by the abundance of roadside spaces, as the sheriff's deputies patrol with a gleeful 'gotcha!' frequency, and tickets are pricey.

BUT, if you're willing to walk a bit, you can safely park where the NIMBY "No Parking" areas finally come to an end on Blue Water Drive.

It's worth it.

It hangs from the beam of a beach house that no one seems to visit.

Except me.

Thank you!

*UPDATE: The swings are now gone.

Someone loves to dance:

And someone else just can't help but share the sunrise, which began like this:

Then went all pink:

And swirly (yes, that's a technical term):

And in the water, it looked like this:

And then we headed down to the beach and walked north.

So, that day, that cloudy windy day last week with all the birds?

First we saw the white-tailed kite.

And he saw us:

Later there were widlflowers:

Racoon tracks near the creek:

The kite again, on the beach side of the bluff this time, in mid-hunt:

And in the parking lot, as dusk was falling, these black birds:

Blackbirds?

Coming and going and singing and talking in the bare trees.

First, the love note:

And now some flowers to round out the day:

'Housing starts' as economic indicator seems barbaric.

Something from the days when lion kills and bear skin rugs proved bravery.

I mean, those decks were stacked.

Yet half of the the last, the final, the only surviving stretch of un-built bluff in Malibu is going the way of the mega-mansion.

Housing starts. What a concept.

First, in case you were wondering, the beach here this morning:

And now, birds.

Remember that crow from yesterday, the one tending to his companion? At one point he left his perch and flew right here, to face off with this hawk.

The hawk's all, whatever, but the crow's amped up, head up, chest forward, seeking eye contact.

Crow leaves, hawk stays, fluffed up and unfazed.

Sees the photog:

And quite deliberately, turns his back.

Get ready for a few bird posts this week because it was a busy day for our feathered friends on the bluff yesterday.

First, though, the clouds:

And then, these crows:

They sat together for a long, long time, the one on the right quite still, the one on the left dipping a beak into his companion's feathers:

Ever so soft...

And gentle.

Up came the sun:

Zoom went the lens:

Zoom zoom, all the way to the South Bay.

Technically, there's an actual sign with actual text in the photo. (See, way far back, maybe too far to see? Malibu Country Mart.)

Needless to say, that's just an excuse to post pix of the rainbow that arced across the sky as the Little Dog and I had (sorry, snowpocalypsed East coasters but for us, 48 degrees is challenging) a very cold walk in what turned out to be very little rain.


This one's a bit brighter:

This one's a bit longer:

This one's my favorite.

It tried to rain here, it really did, but after a short shower, zippo. We're left to make do with the memory of morning drama.

It's the way the light comes skimming in this time of year, spinning flat from the horizon, that lets you see the sculptural in even the smallest thing.

A little rain, a lot of sun and voila, the giant coreopsis, a California coastal native, are beginning to bloom.

Where?

Here, on the Point Dume headlands.

So pretty.

And rare.

So fogged in this morning, you can't even see the headlights on PCH in the morning commute.

So let's gaze instead into the sunny face of a wild nasturtium, shall we?

Drove to Starbucks in Trancas the other morning expecting to see this:

And instead, found this:

And this, the whole operation moved into a food truck.

As I was getting my coffee the clerk saw my camera and barked "No photos allowed!", which was just so silly, I went ahead and randomly shot a few frames, like this:

And this.

Some mornings...

...there it is:

Catalina island, on the horizon.

Yeah, yeah, so the terminus sign of Route 66--

...is little more than a cheesy sop to tourists. Which doesn't stop yours truly from loving it.

Of course I can also argue for hours on behalf of the Little House books as literature.

Oh yes they are.

There was the minimalist beach:

Little birds:

With big feet:

A couple of sitting gulls:

A gliding pelican:

And, of course, the Tiny Labrador.