It's so nice when the natural world manages to stay unchanged.
It's some of the prettiest light of the year, that hour or so as the marine layer burns off and the sun filters through and the springtime colors come back to life.
After last year's ferociously hot -- and let's not forget humid -- summer, I offer no complaints about the early arrival of the May Gray/June Gloom coastal fog situation.
They're taking a time out from stalking the hummingbird feeder (that's what those fluttery shadows are, the unhappy hummingbirds) which they've learned to tip and drain.
It's disappointing to learn that this pretty little flower, asphodelus fistulosus, is not only a non-native, it's considered a noxious and invasive weed.
This year's wildflower bloom is somewhat subdued but as even in the driest times, these tiny purple ones are a cheery constant. Love the golden anthers.
From the industrial end of Malibu, where the deep fryers never sleep, the enigmatic 'bu muse makes her way through traffic.
And while we're here may I just say how every time someone new takes over Flickr, the site that hosts my photos, they make pointless, dopey, definitely-not-better updates? This newest iteration is now asking users to approve 'privacy' permissions that are as cynical as they are porous. AND the company asking you to agree to this public nudity is called SmugMug. UGH.
Thank you. Useless rant, feel better anyway.
We had the rare pleasure of unheralded rain yesterday, no hyped-up storm watch, no minute-by-minute updates, none of that precision radar that strips the joy from the unexpected.
It was just a few sprinkles for just a few minutes but the privacy of it felt like we were getting away with something.
One of the striking things about Solstice Canyon is the comeback of so many of the trees that burned in the 2007 Corral Fire.
A bit of ocean and a bit of border collie are included in the photo to forestall the 'no no please no more green' comments but the truth is, there is even more marveling at the seasonal change tk.
There's a limited amount of change to be made at this point of PCH, where the mountains crowd the coast and and leave just a slim spit of land for the road to pass through.
You can hear the water at this point of the trail but it's running low and slow and you can't quite see it.
Yes, that's an empty dog bed next to Walt and Daisy and yes, had Walt chosen that one Daisy would have followed him there as well.
Sorry, Walt. There's no such thing as personal space when you're living with the wild puppy.
It's not really a secret trail because the entrance is right out there in the open. Still, hardly anyone wanders in and that's part of the magic. It's a narrow path through stands of fire-scarred trees (a bit more about that later this week) and if you're lucky, for minutes at a time you can hear birds and wildlife and the breeze through the leaves and not a single human-made sound.
The giant coreopsis bloom has begun along the coast but I haven't had the will yet to visit the Point Dume headlands because so many of the magnificent plants there are struggling from years of drought and really, it's just heartbreaking.
Usually with vanity plates you can at least get the gist. My brain goes to translation so it's 'and woof!'. Unless it's ET's dog.
No particular reason for this post, I just like this photo from a few years ago. And since it's been too foggy lately to shoot the (sadly diminished this year) giant coreopsis bloom on Point Dume, here's a squiggle of sea grass shadow instead.