California

"...and I laughed out loud.  It was the abundance
the world gives, the more-than-you-bargained-for
surprise of it, waves breaking,
the sudden fragrance of the mimulus at creekside
sharpened by the summer dust.
Things bloom up there.  They are
for their season alive in those bright vanishings
of air we ran through."

-Robert Hass, "On Squaw Peak"

I am always grateful for a visit to California.  I spent my favorite three summers there, in Big Sur, and a few days---even hours---on the central coast is still an incomparable tonic:  the meeting of redwoods and chapparal, pelicans swooping low along the shore, the rise of hills, dramatic, above the endless expanse of Pacific.  San Francisco, too, is a favorite retreat, especially since I've become a small-town-dweller of the Interior.  Before heading to the coast last week, I spent a couple of vibrant days in the city, running the hilly streets lined with iconic Victorians, absorbing the lovely cacophony of languages on Valencia Street, consuming as much mole and chile and five-alarm salsa as I could get my hands on... 

I'm behind on recipes.  Recipes on the way.