September 2, 2015 - 21:30
I found this pcture a coupe years ago, on a popular blogging site that I sed frequently at the time. When I first saw it, I was struck first by the resemblance the hills held to my own home, despite having been taken in Kansas. The Golden Hills of California, I've been told, look like nothing more than dead grass to many people from lusher climes, but in this picture I felt that the true beauty I found in them was visible for anyone to see. The Hills, after all, are especially prone to burning, and much of this past summer I smelled smoke from fires miles away. Despite that destruction, I've felt homesick for both the land and people I've left behind, and this picture reminds me of the beauty that blooms directly in the wake of the yearly devestation. Nothing is prettier than when poppies, castilleja, lupin, and agave burst from between black trunks on burnt-out hills in the winter.
