Where the wildfire struck Santa Barbara, a hiking trail sign melted and disintegrated.
Scorched hillside in Santa Barbara Mountains.
Scorched hillside in Santa Barbara Mountains.
It's hot as hell near Santa Barbara, sun hanging directly overhead, inescapable. Almost noon, an internal timer saying, "Get to Los Angeles," with an unplaceable urgency. Would-be vacationers chase each other up the slow on Hwy 146, hurrying up to relax. Mapquest suggested this shortcut through the mountains, views of cragged peaks and desolate wastelands covered by green survival-minded shrubs. A recent wildfire scorched the distant hills.
Car gets hot, begs to pull over.
Internal clock says, "No, we have to get to Los Angeles."
Car says, "Really, we have to stop."
Car wins.
Atop a lovely vista, we rest together, bulbous clouds floating lazily floating by. The car is already teaching me: I'm exactly where I'm meant to be on nobody's time but my own.
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Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong.
- Oscar Wilde