Sunday in the Golden, Rollin' Hills of California

Photo from Capitol Public Radio Website

No, it's not a new volcano. A difficult-to-fight fire in one of the steep, timbered Sierra Nevada foothill canyons has grown to 14,000 acres over the past week. While typing a letter to a typospherian in Louisiana this morning I was going on about how, while back there natural disasters ordinarily involve hurricanes, out here we have our wildfires. Many of them are lightning-caused when warm and moist monsoon air flowing over the Sierra Nevada triggers convective storms. This fire is burning about 40 miles to the northeast of us. During the morning a light northeast breeze brought smoke that turned the rising sun into an orange ball and did interesting things to the light.

From my perch out on the balcony where I was typing my eye caught the way the light was enhancing the shapes and honey color of my old swivel chair, and I had to get the camera fired up.

Then it was back out to finish the letter with the 1972 Olympia SM9, while blinking back tears. Although the smoke was irritating, mornings in the cool air out here are too precious to waste. Pardon the skivvies. 

Time to head back in and get breakfast going. The Royal No. 10, seen here lording it royally (get it, get it?) over a few lowly portables, actually saw use later in the day writing another letter. Normally it only gets to address envelopes. Buddy observes.

After our breakfast on the deck, Hilda gets the fish their breakfast. They show their gratitude by hiding from the camera.

While I am off purchasing framing supplies, Hilda digs into her project, a Sunbonnet Sue quilt for a new great grandbaby. Naps follow in the afternoon, induced by the spectacle of the American women golfers getting totally whomped by the European lasses.

And so goes a fine Sunday here in the golden, rollin', hills of California.