Went for a walk on the beach this evening. Read a little in the sun, then stripped to my trunks and went and played in the waves. Went for a short run, until my knees started to hurt, then back in the waves again. The water is still cold and, while sunny, it's far from hot in the evening, so I wasn't sure I'd go in. After wading for a while, though, I couldn't resist. I dove under a few waves, swam around, and floated on my back for a bit, before body surfing a couple of waves back to shore.

I decided to stay and watch the sunset, so I walked up and down on the beach until I found a good spot in the rocks overlooking a group of surfers bobbing in the water, looking like black seals in their wetsuits. Though there was a bit of the dank, slightly metallic smell of wet, seaweed strewn rocks and mud surrounding my seating, it was not overpowering. By and large, the only smell was a faint, clean ocean breeze. It was more a moment of sight and sound. The sun was behind the clouds, but still peeked our red underneath, along the horizon. The swells were large and rough and noisy here meaning the surfers were quite good. I watched them tire and come in, dozens of them, one by one. I thought of how sitting on the board among friends and waiting to catch the next great wave was probably as much a part of the experience as actually catching it-- like the ski-lift ride up, if the company is good.

Back near where I parked my car, a drum circle of all ages had formed. Bonfires were lit and large groups of people were gathered around them, cooking and socializing. I felt entirely separate from everyone there today, but not in a lonely way, just in the way of a casual observer passing through somebody else's Sunday evening.

There are days when I love southern California, and this was one.