Outside the frame, the illuminated silhouette of the downtown skyline pries through the June gloom. In the blackness — unilluminated (except for those times when the fires burn) — the Santa Monicas, Verdugos and San Gabriels ring the basin. The Pacific Ocean lies a mile or so behind camera.
Inside the frame (hard to see, but to the left above the iconic pylon installation, scattered like fireflies), approach lights from a dozen commercial aircraft hone in on the beckoning tarmacs. And yes, that’s the moon to the right, unretouched. (JFK concocted the moon race during one of his frequent trips to L.A.: little known fact.)
I was in western New York recently: Finger Lakes, waterfalls, riesling, sailing. Very nice (in June, not in January).
But this is perennial. Electric and tectonic. A Rorschach.