I am liking living by the ocean. Tonight I can hear the fog horns blowing on ships as they pass each other off the coast. Two different tones and they are loud and echoing as they have a conversation about who gets to go next, and who's closer to shore... I never experienced that till now, and don't really have a comparison, other than hearing the thunder far off in the desert at night or the cicadas chirping their mating songs, or the coyotes howling their joy and their plight to one another.
It's a different world out here. The lack of sunsets often gets to me, as I'm riding through the wind and the fog on my motorcycle home from work in the evening, when if I were back home I would be overtaken by the colors staring me in the face, screaming their beauty from the west, streaks of bright yellow fading into striking pinks, magentas, oranges, the purple mountains majesty reflecting the Van Gogh-esque paintings off their enormousnesses behind me.
I do miss those nights, the way anything white embellishes the shades of insanity, watching the stars and the moon fight the sunset for the most beautiful spot in the sky, like the snow capping Mt. Baldy in the late fall, after he's just been dusted by first desert snow turns bright purple just as the sun ducks below the horizon.
Shucks, now I'm getting all sick for home. Though, there are those nights of splendor off the coast, watching the fog reflect bright orange and the water shimmer with the sun as it follows itself around and around the curve of its incessant orbit. Dogs and their people silhouetted against the moving breezes as they throw sticks back and forth and dig their footprints into the sand, the rhythmic swell of ocean break washing the only evidence of their existence back into the earth.
A sweet life, it is, in La La Land.
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