I never thought I would see the day when Californians ease into a conversation talking about the weather, like true Londoners. It is said that California lacks seasons, that it is invariably a balmy 70 degrees, a bit colder in winter and a bit hotter in summer. There can be bitter cold mornings and sweltering mid-summer days but, by and large, that statement would ring true to most of us. But never have we seen temperatures in the 80’s in January, veritable bikini days that are stretching indefinitely. Normally, we would be seeing pouring rains at this time of the year.
This further proof that global warming isn’t a theory concocted by misled scientists has nonetheless provided Los Angelenos with some of the most spectacular sunrises and sunsets, with nary a hint of the usual fog lingering over the ocean.
At 6:30 it’s still dark. Ottie, Portia and I steal out of the house and embark on our morning walk. Once we reach the top of the hill we are climbing, orange is breaking in the East. The lone rooster of the neighbourhood rings its alarm bell from inside its coop and birds awaken softly. The deer we always spot having dinner in the afternoon are still asleep. Faster than I think possible, the orange light grows so intense you could be forgiven if you thought a massive fire had engulfed the city.
By the time we are ready to head back, the sun has comfortably taken up residence in the Orient and the birds are chirping with more conviction. And the three of us are craving breakfast. I have come to treasure this time spent walking in solitude, watching the world come alive, once again. And these recent sunrises have made the experience even more amazing.