Summer near the foothills makes me count the days til Fall. Too far from the coast to feel the cool beach breezes, we're stuck with heat and smoggy haze. While I complain about sticky clothes, Summer's secrets go unnoticed.
As Kona and I jogged our ridge, I wrinkled my nose at our browning landscape. Then the more I looked, the more I noticed the layers of textures, the fine shifts of colors.
Witches hair grew over sumac. I wondered if the parasitic plant would harm it's hardy host. Kona lunged for a rabbit that zigged underneath the sumac's low branches.
Tufts of dry grass dotted our sandy fireroad and mingled beside mustard, still yellow in the early Summer.
I relaxed into a steady pace and Kona panted, pulling slightly ahead. With our easy rhythm, I let go of my brown, bleak, one dimensional season. I let the trail show a different side of Summer.