“I’m part of the whole universe,” Jacob tells me. I am sitting across the foot of his bed, hugging my knees, leaning back against the wall. It is dark, the nighttime quiet punctuated by Lucas’s soft snoring. Jacob’s feet push at my leg from under his striped comforter. “I feel so cozy right now, because you are next to that edge, and I have my red blanket.” He yawns. “The universe is so big and we are all part of it. Like how all the sand makes the beach.”
January is our rainy season, but it has not rained this year. Where usually by now green runs rampant, the ground is instead insistently brown. Hardy oxalis, usually so lush, speckles the bluffs with a faint whisper of color. Its yellow flowers are bright under the strange winter sun, the sky an eerily deep, cloudless blue. Continue reading
At the Monterey Bay Aquarium there is an exhibit called Open Sea. It is a spectacle, awe-inspiring; a magnificent 90-foot window glows blue in the dark of the viewing room, and behind it, enormous tuna swim with shoals of sardines and green sea turtles. There are big sharks, 5,000 pound sunfish.
The water is so deep that looking at it, I feel something sort of like vertigo.