Old Los Angeles

When I think about my city, gleaming rose-gold under an endless blue sky, it makes my heart hurt.

I've left, which I don't regret because I live with my soulmate in another beautiful country. But when I think of Los Angeles, the city of my youth, I think of its graceful Art Deco curves and its warm Latin aura (rather than the homelessness, the traffic, the things that can drive you to despair). I think of long afternoons, the light spangling on the ragged palms that ripple in the crosswinds. And I I feel the invisible threads that run from my fingers to the California earth tugging and aching just a bit.