some sundays

When the heat comes in before the mid of January one Sunday morning, you'll decide that a visit to the Getty Villa was in order. It was a wasting time visit so we wasted time on the patio eating from the cafe, with table service and excellent dishes that voided the sunburn we received in that hour.

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I could eat there every weekend under umbrellas, behind sunglasses and fronting the Pacific Ocean. Canyon winds would be my welcomed afternoon guest as we breezed through the galleries and gardens, then past the fair young lady with book, with yellow dress reading by the reflecting pool.

Thought it rude to snap her picture but one could have painted her stillness that day.

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And when it's time to go (though it is always time to go) you promised your guests that if a spot was open that you'll park along Highway 1 so stones could be skipped and then sand brushed off clothes in the back seat.

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The beach will greet you when leaving for work the next morning and your side of the car will have the most sand. "Those are good decisions" you'll think though the truth was that some days, some Sundays, just sort of happen like that.

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