light like this

the rhythm of my days is changing, and i am finding a deeper love for the quiet of a gray day.

small comforts are magnified: the warm weight of my little dog, her sleepy head against my lap; the scent of tea leaves steeping in hot water, reminding me of something wordless.

i went into the city yesterday with a friend, and let myself dream inside the stories we heard about the oldest buildings in downtown. soft light beams through these big windows that push out to the sounds of the street, rust clings to the spindly rails of fire escapes; los angeles is old in new.

i put a bit of money into fixing the bike i had bought back in college. it’s still squeaky from years spent in storage, but good enough now to take on rides around the neighborhood near day’s end. by this time, the gloom has always lifted, like a shade pulled up to let in the honey glow of an early autumn sun, setting.

now, leaves twist in tiptoe across the pavement when the wind drifts and swells – just a few. but soon our gutters will be filled with them, the curbs lined, and i’ll see that single branch of reddening leaves grow to the whole tree.

sometimes, when i’ve parked my bike and come back into the house and the light is like this:


…i am sure the song of it must be something like this:

(give it a minute or so, and the lyrics come floating in.)

{more dreamy fall tunes are right over here.}


in stars

i miss the days when i could dream myself out the window.

i know it won’t always be like this. the work will one day settle itself (or i will wrestle it to the ground myself). friends will circle back into the fold. eventually the hours will fall by in a way that feels more like wind and less like… whatever this is.

but for now, every moment of solace is hard-won. and usually by accident.

i took myself to the beach last week, hoping for warm sun and the sight of water forever and the kind of peaceful noise that only an empty coastline can offer. but instead i was cold and goosebumply, unnerved by this creature that kept hanging around and staring at my sandwich:

and finally scared off by a potbellied, sun-browned fisherman – shirt half-on – who kept eyeing me as he stalked the shoreline on a cigarette break. even so far up pch, pure solitude is hard to find.


i left the beach and tried to redeem my outing with a quick turn into a park that overlooked the sea,

where the people hanging around consisted mostly of families with small children, all of whom were securely clothed.

but even then…

so i count it as a loss. the week starts again, and the days turn like gears; the weekend comes and i find myself – quite by accident – sitting around the dinner table with a circle of friends that i never really counted as my own… and it’s here that i feel finally eased of my little burdens and, paradoxically, the most alone with my thoughts – in the best way. the way i have needed this whole time.

a friend and i have this broken thread of a discussion about what it is exactly that strange people like us need in order to finally feel at home in our own lives. i walked out at the end of that night, saw the stars up in the sky for the first time in i don’t know how long, and it felt like some kind of answer.

i still don’t know what that answer is, because i don’t speak in stars, but here is a pretty (sad) song.

(it’s the same guy who did the cheerier song i liked over here.)