Views

11-12 February, freezing cold rain and hail in showers, and gorgeous snow on the mountains.

In town and the burbs, only the rare gap in houses etc. allows for views of mountains that would be visible from more or less anywhere before the gringo invasion. I see people everywhere, totally oblivious of the spectacle.

One more way that we have isolated ourselves, cut ourselves off from even the most blatant aspects of nature.

And the ocean, as I drive up the coast, is a whole new glory.  All the world, in fact, is looking fresh, new, clean. This is, in fact, possibly my new favorite time of year, the time when botanizing is at its most exhilarating. Clover hunting (when all the leaf patterns are most vivid); dainty annuals; regreening shrubs; lush, dewy, burgeoning bryophytes; clear, clean, fresh, light.

And speaking of the showy mountains, how many people who live on the Santa Cruz terrace can even see the ocean anymore. The Indians were lucky. Look one way to the sea, the other to the high ridges, and in the foreground in any direction is green freshness.

Regarding which, from Highway 1 the contrast is agonizingly obvious between the gorgeous, fresh new green “lawn” of Younger Ranch separated by a fence from the dull, dead grass of Wilder Ranch. Private vs. public. Life vs. death. Change vs. stagnation.