If I were to make an uneducated guess about L.A.'s relationship with folk and psychedelia, I would say it must be the weather.
Bad weather never stopped anyone from reaping a good harvest.
As much as I would like to know my path, a part of me is telling me that it is better not too know too many details about the end destination or the obstacles on the journey. If I can only see as much...
To storm, a mind, it must be balanced,by what can't be it must be challenged...
The moon seems unawareof night's dark hittingon the damp warm rain misguiding owl's spitting A thunder light of loveraising hearts beatingwhile weather learns morefrom rain lovers meeting
I don't dream of a ceiling fan which is always here spinning above my head. I dream of a cool weather
You can plan on a change in the weather and time, but I never planned on you changing you mind.
Groundhog found fog. New snows and blue toes. Fine and dandy for Valentine candy. Snow spittin'; if you're not mitten-smitten, you'll be frostbitten! By jing-y feels spring-y.
Sopping, and with no sign of stopping, either- then a breather. Warm again, storm again- what is the norm, again? It's fine, it's not, it's suddenly hot: Boom, crash, lightning flash!
Wintry it ain't- no complaints! Snowier: Storefronts are showier, light displays glowier. Shoppers are prowling, blizzard howling! Drifts a-heaping, lords a-leaping, Yule logs burning, gifts returning...
Do we ever get slow rain?