I keep forgetting to mention (to the noosphere in general) the “bloom”: here in the palm-and-desert aerie, we have the blessing of an early bloom.

This is always a beautiful shock to my inner-climate-sense, since I grew up in {was forged in the Iroquois fires of} Upstate New York {and also subsequently in the Mohican Valley of Wastefield, MA} where February is still bitterly cold, and March is, more often than not, a sluggish and grimy old Lion. Meaning: my inner senses do not ever expect to see soft green buds, light purple umbrella-flowers, explosions of flower-cones, or rounded peaks of bell-like petals dotting the landscape. But here they are, in this beautiful hybrid world of Southern California.

Walking through our favorite desert-in-miniature a few days ago, we were impressed to see the Yucca bell-towers, the Nightshade, the African Violets, and the feral spike-balls of the Wild Cucumber. And, while not exactly a flower (though bearing a small tuft of flowers at the end of a stalk), the black sage has run rampant, weaving tendrils of its particular dry desert spice through the warm air.

I can’t help but wax a little poetic — it puts me in such a reverie, even while remembering it.

More to write, more to remember– but the day has started, so here we go.