Four-thirty finds me beachside, sprawled on Noah and David's multicolored beach towel, camera in hand, in the hopes of catching one of what Noah describes as Redondo Beach's spectacular sunsets. They're pretty picky out here, these sunset connoisseurs. Knowing that tomorrow, the sun will - yet again - set into the ocean means they're not nearly so excited by its daily happening as someone who will only see a maximum of six such occurrences before flying back east again.

Despite my laughter and my joking about California weather to my friends, it does get cold here, although not as cold as the locals would like you to think. The beach winds at sunset have teeth sharpened over miles of ocean; they chew past the breakers and roar onto the sand, looking for something to devour.

Me.

In July or August, I have to think the winds are welcome respites from the afternoon heat; here, they are bitterly cold and very nearly drive me back indoors before the sunset can actually happen. I may walk out there in short sleeves and sandals, but the bundle under my left arm is my jacket, and a pair of socks. I won't need them for a session of afternoon reading, but I will need them to keep from freezing on the walk home.

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So far, the December 10th sunset has been the best of the lot.

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(There's also a rumor that I actually hugged a street performer in Hollywood. The rumors are true.)

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Yesterday afternoon we went to the pier at Hermosa Beach, and I have to admit I felt a little sorry for Noah and David afterward, because I think they practically had to pry me off the pier when our parking meter was about to expire.

Contemplation
by domesticat.

Lastly, the photo I think that a few of my friends have been hoping Noah would take of me:

Chilly sunset
by domesticat.

I'm thinking that either the sunset or the pier photo of me should be the print I give my mother. Any opinions on which? Both? Hold out and wait for a better photo?

[Full photoset available on flickr.]