Here's a bad photo of a great view.
This is where I'm finishing the book. When the fog clears you've got the sea stretching out flat and blue-gray just beyond the treeline. With the sliding glass doors open you can smell the salt in the air (also the smell of ice plant, night jasmine, and desert plants, something like dry brush and sage). At night you hear the seashell-to-the-ear sound of the Pacific and the breeze rustling the palms.
It's the right place to be finishing this book.
Day two of Your Friends Will Carry You Home's final edits.
También siento añoranza por el mediterráneo.