2.6.26

Sitting on the sand at my favorite beach in the world, Montaña de Oro, with Star, watching the sun dip into the sea. The waves sizzle like stellar currents as they move back and forth over the shore. Yesterday we drove out to Antelope Valley to watch wildflowers. The entire valley was vacant. I miss the antelopes, I said. Later I read that they had been extirpated from the area since 1900. At night we met up with Fi and walked to the L.A. river, ducked under a fence, and sat under the moon. The night was vast and thin, quiet except for a man who drove his puttering dirt bike back and forth over a nearby pedestrian bridge. Fi opened her bag and revealed tea and teacups, chamomile and moringa, and a bowl of cut apples, blackberries, and cookies. I finished my tea quickly and noticed a small dead spider at the bottom of the cup. I asked Star and Fi what they thought it meant. Before we left Fi presented us each with a stick of incense. Mine was for Amitābha, the Buddha of infinite light. A curious siamese cat hung around us as we said goodbye. Star and I walked to the car and I picked kale from a sidewalk garden, I had no money and I was hungry for the earth. The next morning we left town early and drove north along the sea. The incense had crumbled into pieces in my purse. I burned them on the beach.