Most people assume everywhere in California has amazingly phenomenal warm weather year-round, but my first two weeks here prove otherwise. In the the morning in San Diego, at times there’s a light mist that blankets the air; it’s like wisps of a spiderweb that I could part with my fingers and the webs would tickle my fingertips. The clouds hang a faint grey in the sky and the air is cold. When the dampness clears, I can see the sun glistening through. It’s not like a heat wave beating on you, it’s more like a shaft of gentle light breaking through the clouds. At times I can feel the wind through the open door at work and I smell fresh rain or feel cool air creep up my arms.
Everyone refers to this time in San Diego as “May and June Gloom,” and in order to brighten my perspective, I head to the Flower Fields in Carlsbad, California. With what some friends affectionately refer to as my “Asian tourist camera,” a water bottle, and a piece of paper with hand written directions I head North. As I manage my way through the labyrinth of the San Diego freeways, I keep my eyes forward. It’s very hard not to be distracted by this elaborate obstacle course of bridges and overpasses. Eventually, I see an array of colors and know where my exit is.