Yesterday I decided to finally go on a bit of a hike by myself. With a bit of trepidation, I told people where I was going, had my phone, and watched where I put my tootsies. The result was a slow meander, camera in hand, down the Chumash Trail. Housed within the area of this park is the Chumash History Museum, closed weekdays, but worth a visit.
Overhead, the half moon could be seen above the trees and glimpses of the mountainous ridges above. The pathway beneath the trees was dark and shadowy.
Though it is just weeks away from winter, here in SoCal we are experiencing dry weather, sometimes warm, sometimes cold. This morning I woke to the news that Malibu is, once again, in flames. An ironic bit as I thought I should walk down the Chumash before it burns again as I knew the east winds were on their way.
My favorite old, old tree is gone, with only a reminder of its former grandeur and an empty sky overhead.
Grasses, flowers, poison oak, toyon were present, too – some plants I could name, others I could not, but it was just a pleasure to be out, looking for deer and squirrels – listening to the birds – canyon wrens mostly, an occasional crow – and to the patter, patter of the acorns.
And, of course, everywhere are oak trees! Some scorched, some fallen, some cut down and left to return to the earth after the fire. Each tree has its own lovely and crazy shape and form, like dancers bending and arching. The Chumash Trail is a magical place and one which soothes the soul as only a walk under the trees can . . .
Ink, Yarn & Beer 