It's fall now and the Santa Ana's are blowing. When this happens I feel a cozy, fireplacey, The Way We Were kind of melancholy. I'm a native Los Angeles-ian and as much as I love the mountains twenty feet to the left and the ocean thirty feet to the right and an unusually wealthy person every 36 yards or so, I must say I miss the change of seasons---as I imagine them in my mind. So when the Santa Ana winds kick up around this time every year I feel like they are the closest thing to The Leaves Turning I will ever have. The way the light has a sparkle diamond shine. Like clean niceness.
I walk out of my house in the morning and I see the manhandled palm fronds strewn all over the street and I think "this is the equivalent of the first frost" and I get all happy inside when I realize: Good God---Yams or Mashed? MUST START PLANNING CHRISTMAS DINNER.
Yours In Wonder,
Un Scrooge-ish
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