i thank God for most this amazing day; for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite and which is yes
This is my favorite time of year in Southern California. The green rolling hills remind me of Ireland and of my first visit to suburban LA. I'd been to Disneyland twice before and so I knew the asphalt cities, the freeways and smog. I'd been to the beaches, but I'd never seen the canyons.
When my husband brought me to meet his family in Westlake Village, we drove through the tiny, twisting roads of Topanga and I saw the rolling green hills filled with poppies and wild flowers. I thought, I could live here.
Later that year I returned in August and the hillsides were brown, charred by summer's heat. By then I was married. The damage was done.
I've friends who love the heat, but I love the rain. Maybe it's my Washington roots, maybe it's because I love nothing more than hibernating in my house with a good book when the noise of the world is muffled by the steady beat of rain, or maybe it's because I know that because of winter's weather there's always a March, there's always an April. The hills will be green often enough.
Over the years I've learned the most amazing thing. When there's been a fire, whether it was controlled or accidental, after the black and ashes, after weeks of rain, the hills are their very prettiest. Green grass, orange poppies, a sea of wild flowers, everything which is natural, which is infinite and which is yes.