...is that it's seen it all before. Death and new life. Destruction and rebuilding. Endings and beginnings. It was there for catastrophe (both natural and man-made), for triumphs, for every world war and epic moment in our history. So there's something soothing about the rhythmic ebb and flow of waves on the beach, of crashing water on cliffs and rocks. To me, it always seems like the sea is saying something. Something like "Been there, done that..." or "Yeah, it's rough sometimes, but you'll get through it...." or "See? I told you so. I told you you could do it..."
In its inconceivable depth and distance is wisdom. Assurance for the things we do not know, the things that stay hidden in dark places. The ocean has seen it all, and it's still here, meeting the sun each morning and kissing the moon each night.
It is spring in San Diego. I think spring may just be my favorite season here, and I know we don't get a lot in the way of seasons. But spring definitely exists. It is the one time of year when this near-desert locale is green. We have been getting a lot of rain this winter, at least by San Diego standards, and it is totally worth it. All the hills are lush, and random flowers pop up along the freeways. It is warm (usually), but not yet hot and dry like summer. Everything smells awesome. And I really like to smell things.
One of the greatest scents God created is orange blossoms. Seriously, if Estee Lauder could bottle that stuff I would wear nothing else. It is amazing. At my parents' house, the air is so heavily perfumed with it this time of year, it's intoxicating.
It has rained every Saturday for the last four or five weeks now. I am a little upset that we've had sunny, beautiful days during the week while I'm sitting in my office, and rain and wind on my days off. But...today there are blue skies, some big puffy clouds, and a spring breeze. And the forecast for the weekend is sunny!
So welcome, Spring, to San Diego. We're so glad to see you again.
Is it wholly fantastic to admit the possibility that Nature herself strove toward what we call beauty? Face to face with any one of the elaborate flowers which man's cultivation has had nothing to do with, it does not seem fantastic to me. We put survival first. But when we have a margin of safety left over, we expend it in the search for the beautiful. Who can say that Nature does not do the same?
