i like the winter colors here; i like muted beauty. i like rugged over lush, i like the crisp air and the wet wind and the ironclouded sky. slategrey scrubbrush on the hills out to laguna seca, silver water under the last bits of covered sun. granite, sand, wet pavement, and always clouds, always the fog. like everything has been washed in grey, the dull green of the oaks, the dry orange pineneedles strewn around dry grey pinecones curled tight. and inside, the christmastree twinkling, the teapot whistling, and i know there's rain coming.


i miss the snow. i miss the rainforest, the thick dripping heat, the philadelphia skyline. but i find that i belong here, that the topography of this place is etched in my veins. every time i go away, i learn more about home.



and when we were fooling around in the tidepools between the immense jungle and the larger sea, we found a chiton, and i knew what it was.