Asked to remember something from childhood

The green faerie!

I remember pampas grass. It grows in large clumps. You’d break off a swatch of the stuff and it was like a bamboo cane. Hurt like hell if you got whacked with one. A big kid would get one, and everybody’d scatter. You’d go running, tearning ass through the dirt clod paths, mud paths, under the cypresses or if you were in the back of town the eucalyptus. Busting to get home, get the gate open, get in with your dogs. Even big kids wouldn’t mess with dogs.

I also remember how distinct the seasons were. In summer there was the everpresent grey, the marine layer. ‘Fog Capital Of The World’. In fall the nice days, heat days, out late throwing a ball around with the old man. In the winter it was perpetually wet. Mustard flower grew everywhere, painting fields and hills yellow. Storms would come in and blow in the trees and make everything too wet to go out and play in. Then it would be nice for a few days, just long enough to start to dry it up. Then another storm would roll in off the Pacific.

After a storm, the sea. The chop. Like paintings: Hokusai, or Manet. There’s nothing to learn. You either get the sense of those paintings, or you don’t. You either tremble a bit at the power of the sea, or you don’t. You either get the shivers knowing the fragility of our situation on this rock or, or, or I don’t know what you do or why you do it. Or I don’t know you.

Early Spring

“…God knows, when spring comes to Paris the humblest mortal alive must feel that he dwells in paradise…”
– Henry Miller

57. Box Spring

 

49. In Bloom

 

45. The Double Rainbow

 

59. Purple