Ahh-h-h, the Sun Is Back

The waves have been hiding their foaming faces from me since fall slid into winter. I’m sure the sand stayed where I left it in September, with its traces of shell, seaweed and bottle caps. But what of the multi-colored blankets, covered with human beings fleshy and hard, listening to radios, dogs, kids--playing, barking, running?

While I sat shivering, wrapped in a down-filled comforter and watching football, ghostly Field of Dreamers played pepper and rundown to an empty stadium, empty seats across town. No one tossed bags of salted peanuts. Ask Shakespeare; winter is the season for ghosts.

The rains fell, but not too frequently. It was cold, very frequently.

The summer girls were there, of course, albeit stuffed into form-resistant coats and mufflers. You knew they wanted to burst out of their cocoons, to float their flora and forms, but couldn’t. It was too damn cold.

To someone from the East, Los Angeles is a year-round mecca of warmth, but the native Angeleno knows the difference. The novelty of winter wears off and the sensible among us long for shorts, T-shirts and Gatorade.

Then it arrives. Quietly. It may be the kiss of a warm breeze or the pollen that makes us sneeze. I push ahead my clock and the grasses grow faster. The idled lawnmowers growl again.

Off come the cocoons. The butterflies look beautiful. Real baseballs get tossed around the infield; bags of salt-roasted peanuts arc in the bleachers, into my hand. On go the swimsuits. The waves are just as I left them, spiked with boogie boards. Children and lovers dig toes in the sand.

Summer is here at last. Ain’t life glorious!