These clouds have more than silver lining

CHASING DOWN THE MUSE

“June gloom,” as we affectionately call it, is both nemesis and

enlightener. The gloom sits on the coast -- clings to it even -- much

like the parasitic California dodder sits upon the green hills all

around us. Like the dodder, it takes over for a time, but will soon

be gone.

The gray days seem to infiltrate all of our minds and the topic

often is the first thing from everyone’s lips: “Hi, there. How are

you?” I’d be fine if only the sun would shine ... if this overcast

would just lift” “It gets right into my soul ... I need some sun.”

The dim light continues. There are only shifts in the shades of gray.

June gloom seems firmly entrenched as I pick my way up the slope

headed for the fire road and then Meadows Trail for a morning’s

outing. Hiking in the hills or along the foggy shore, I think to

myself that perhaps instead of focusing on the negative aspects of

this pervasive gray light all around us, I might search for what is

“good” in it. Just as the thread-like dodder has a certain beauty --

its soft creamy orange color brightening the hillsides -- what

positive lights could be found in the heaviness of the gray gloom?

On the one hand ... the June gloom (Heck! Who needs to go there?

We all know that side of the issue.) On the other hand, there are

many wondrous things to be found in the dim light. Many things can be

seen or focused on that might not be noticed in the bright light of a

sun-filled day. I have noticed that shades of blue and red seem

enhanced by the gray, showing almost luminescent in the dim light.

Along a dry trail, the brilliant scarlet of Coast paintbrush--another

parasite, growing on other plants’ roots-- leaps out at me as I pass.

From Bull thistle, its flower a showy pink to purple and found rife

in the wild, to the spiky blue-flowered echium planted along the

shoreline cliffs, color seems to come to certain fullness in spite of

the prevailing gray. Gardens are filled with iris and agapanthus and

foxglove -- their blue and purple shades intense at this time of

year. Jacaranda trees -- now in full flower -- glow against the dull

sky.

Naming and learning, seeing and hearing, smelling and touching --

these can assist in changing perspective.

Like looking in a person’s eyes, identifying and naming things

brings us closer to them. “Mule fat” -- the coarse brush so named

because it was often the only food available to the mules as they

traveled the arid coastal mountains; jimson weed -- nicknamed “loco

weed” by many for the effects of its poisonous parts when ingested --

both of these grow abundantly along our hiking trails. A gray, gloomy

day becomes a rich classroom filled with Chaparral mallow, barley,

California buckwheat, and sprawling wild cucumber vines that cling by

tendrils to poison oak and are covered with spiny gourds filled with

large black seeds. The birds flock to the Mexican elderberry in the

hills, from which -- if the birds don’t get all the seed -- we might

make wine or jelly or even an elderberry pie.

The sound of rapid drumming on wood draws attention to the

Nuttall’s woodpecker with his fiery red nape. With a low pa-teck, he

flies off at my approach. A flurry of yellow draws attention to a

small crowd of lesser goldfinches flying near the ground in the

drying grasses. All along the trail, armored dentate stink bugs halt

and stick derrieres in the air as I pass. Butterflies and an

occasional brown California towhee fly amid the masses of black

mustard standing erect and branching as if in celebration.

Without conscious notice, the smell of sage fills my nostrils on

hillside hikes. Springtime vegetation begins to rot and emit a

distinct smell in the dampness of late spring. Soon enough, it will

be dry and smell no more as summer comes with its drying heat. Along

the seashore, the smell is of briny kelp washed up on the shore.

Fingertips come away yellow from touching the bright stamens of the

large white Matilija poppy.

The “good” in the June gloom is all about not allowing the gray

pall to hinder the fullness of my senses. Soon enough, the sun will

be sparkling on the water offshore, blinding in its noonday

intensity. Patience. The sunshine will come.

What a gift it is to just walk out the door and in five minutes be

hiking up into coastal sage and drying spring grasses. On these damp

gray days, I find myself thinking how lucky I am -- how lucky we are

-- that people before us fought to keep this space open around our

small coastal city. Thank you to the Laguna Canyon Foundation for its

part in this.

* CHERRIL DOTY is a creative living coach, writer, artist, and

walker who lives and works in Laguna Beach. Contact her by e-mail at

cherril@cherrildoty.com or by phone at (949) 251-3993. Your comments

are appreciated.