327 Market

LuLu is passed out on my chest right now.  Dutch is passed out beside me.  The rain is twinkling on the eaves and the highway 1 traffic is zooming through puddles.  I am afraid they are going to knock down Lena's cottage across the street.  Years of neglect, falling trees and unfinished remodelling projects have taken their toll on one of the cutest buildings in the Hamlet.  I had chilldhood fantasy of living in a house like that.  But I digress.

LuLu was super fussy yesterday.  I plied the breast, gripe water, cuddling to no avail.  It wasn't until we bundled up oursleves and went to one of my favorite beaches that she calmed down.  I have written about Sweetwater before.  It was overcast but not cold.  The bluffs were dominated by the mildewed skeletons of last spring's milk thistle, Queen Anne's Lace and the black, rotting detritus of other plants.  It was a cross between the Dead Swamps of Mordor and Miss Haversham's wedding.  The only sign of life were the wild rabbits and the bright yellow school busses (from Modesto-- I wonder what they thought of our grey beach?).  In spite of the vegetable gloom, the oval path through the trees was enchanting.  LuLu's eyes brightened as soon as we entered the vault.  Even the hum of the road takes on a magical quality under the trees.   Did the gothic architects try to recreate the feeling of walking through a glade with their churches?  We may as well have been walking through a nave.  The ivy-covered stumps, our fellow worshippers.  As we returned to the car, the sky lit up a subtle pink, before the light began to fade.  Sunsets on overcast evenings are nearly imperceptible.