Today, I was driving home from an errand at about 6 p.m.- thinking how I hadn't yet done anything for my life list - when I came up over a hill, and in front of me - because of the effects of the wildfires - was the strangest ocean view I've seen in the 20-some years I've lived in California. I was actually in a rush to get home, but I stopped, pulled into a parking lot, and walked to the shore, utterly mesmerized.
I don't even know how to describe it, but I'll try.
The sun was the first thing I noticed - you couldn't miss it - this blazing red ball suspended in the sky.
But EVERYTHING was strange. The sky and ocean seemed to blend together in this crazy puttyish hue with streaks of red - soot, I know, but muted so it didn't seem like pollution but, rather, that the world was wearing a different color for the day. And the water was so still. It looked like a flat expanse of mud, where I could just walk out to the two big tankers floating in the distance. Dolphins jumped from the water, and pterodactyl-sized pelicans were dive-bombing for fish.
The whole thing was so surreal and sort of "land before time."
Anyway, it got me to thinking how just a few miles up the coast and inland from me, fires were still burning, people were losing their homes, and some really pretty areas were being destroyed. I didn't have to turn on the TV to see it because - in an odd way - I was witnessing it right here.
Of course, then I started blubbering.
What can I say? I'm a big ol' crybaby.