Morning

The State Park is about a ten minute drive from our house, and features a trail that hugs the ocean cliffs for close to two and a half miles, depending on whose pedometer you look at. I'm wearing new hiking boots that fit perfectly and were a super deal o' the day, so we're starting with a win/win.

I don't know most of the names of the wildflowers, but swaths of bright yellow flash against bursts of lavender stars, forests of white cow parsley tower overhead, something pink is sprinkled here and there, that white and yellow stuff I think is wild mustard, and holding it all together are the hay-colored grasses and those gray-green leafy things, tones that makes me think of streaks of pastels on fine paper, rubbing  yummy color with the tips of my fingers. We watch a kite hover over its hunting area, expending an enormous effort to stay in one place. I read later that the behavior is called helicoptering. It hovers and moves a little to one side, hovers again. We watch open-mouthed, sure that it will dive. But no. It moves again. Hovers. Becomes a tiny speck. Gone. It is the highlight of the morning. 

The fog never lifts, but it's pleasant out here. Birds whistle as we pass by. A few hikers and cyclists come and go. There is a bright orange tractor humming in an adjacent field. We've been here dozens and dozens of times and it is always new, always wonderful. 

Afterwards we stop to eat at a clever little coffee house tucked into an industrial park. The breakfast burrito has all the food groups: eggs, bacon, thick slices of avocado, little cubed potatoes, salsa. All that's missing is chocolate, so I have to have the chocolate oat bar for dessert. And, drumroll, a salted caramel latte. I think that takes me out for the rest of the week, and what a way to go.