Field notes from the west coast

The light out here changes so quickly that you learn to read a day by its color instead of its hour. Grey before ten, gold by noon, something rose-colored and brief right before the fog comes back in.

I keep a small notebook just for weather now — not the forecast kind, but the felt kind. What the air smelled like near the water. Which streets stayed warm the longest. It is not useful information, exactly, but it is the kind I want to remember.