Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Last Month

Now, in August, I am here once again -- at this line where summer begins its sad song. I can hear a flute echoing down the shore, wending its way along the ribbons of the coast. In a matter of weeks, the celebration will end, and overnight the crowded beaches will grow bare. Even if we still have warm days, they will be different now; they will be shorter and shaded with shadows: eclipsed by the approaching presence of fall. And I will walk beside the water, inhaling the briny scent of kelp and hearing the tumult of waves.

Even without thinking I will feel loss. The laughter will be gone, the season will be shifting, and I will see this year heading toward a gate. Some part of me will also be glad -- glad to have the beach returned to me -- empty now of tourists -- a wide sheet of ivory sand. The shorebirds will claim their places again, free from distractions, except for an intermittent jogger or a dog. And I will have this boundless air: a place where my mind can travel, soaring above blue water into that infinite space of peace.

There will be September, August's neighbor, shouldering in with its promise of crimson, with its fluttering liquid ambers. Soon crowded schoolyards and bustling commuters jamming the streets of Junipero, Padre and Mission, will trump the summer clamor on Upper State Street and the din of downtown. Santa Barbara will settle back into "our town," not theirs. We will return to our rhythms, our people, our workday worlds.

And I will watch the clock turning -- a girl bred of summer, a woman who follows the sun -- and I will bow, once more, to the passing of these glistening days.


  1. Beautiful pictures beautifully narrated, Anitra. And the last photo reminds me that the loss of a humorist leaves the world making somewhat less sense. None-the-less, I wish you a happy autumn of contemplation, temperatures to bundle up under and of course, joy. Autumn has always been a time for recharging and repair for me and I hope for you too. All my best wishes.

    1. Hello Geo,

      Your comments give me rich soil for thought. Yes, with Joan Rivers' passing, I do indeed feel an absence. Humorists speak for us and help us to release our concerns. Thank you so much for your kind wishes. I haven't felt that way before, but this year I do feel exactly that, like recharging and repair and doing some inner excavation.

      Joy to you too Geo, Anitra

  2. Your beautiful prose and photography are so inspiring. You have so much talent.

    1. James, hello,

      It's lovely to read your kind and magnanimous words. Thank you. And let me say, "Welcome."

      Sincerely, ~ Anitra

  3. Hello Aneet!

    What a beautiful narrative that combines the changing of the seasons with the changing of Santa Barbara's vibe as the tourists depart and the locals "reclaim" your city. Naturally your beautiful photography tells its own story without any words. Wishing you cool, refreshing autumn breezes.

    Best wishes and fond regards,


    1. And Joseph,

      I must say I really enjoy the lovely cadence of your narrative as well. It sounds to me like you've been writing too.

      Thank you so much for your expressive words, and let's trust that these days continue to glisten. It's always a delight to see you here.

      Wishing you a fortuitous autumn, ~ Anitra