It has been so beautiful in the Santa Margarita River Valley. Click on the photobox and get the big pixilated version of my front yard. Notice the absence of smokestacks and drill rigs, although they do have their certain charm. After thirty years every new house on the skyline is a serious affront. Elitist that I am.
The sycamores are turning a beautiful ochre color and the mists lie late in the quiet valleys.
The kestrels and chicken hawks that were evident a few weeks ago are now out of sight, insulated from the shivering dawn.
I didn't have my fancy camera on the way to work this morning so I snapped this shot with my phone. Serious limitations but one works with what one has at hand.
My 93 year old buddy Mike Port was 14 when the depression hit. Was telling tales at coffee today. His dad had a junk shop and they sold burlap bags. Chased a rich guy who wouldn't pay right across the green at the Escondido Country Club in his old truck.