The damp, rainy weather on the West coast produces an atmosphere that feels prehistoric. Or at least what I imagine prehistoric to feel like. I may have a chin hair (which I'm still cultivating), but I don't remember the days when man ran free with the mastodon, thanks. I came along sometime around the flying airship, when dudes wore handlebar mustaches and rode bikes with one big wheel and one small one.
God, I miss corsets.
Because I feel if something's worth summoning the energy to do once you may as well do it fifty times, I have loads of fern photos. They can't run away when I point a camera at them, unlike sentient beings. Or sedentary beings, for that matter. Both of which we have a lot of in this country.
The wind can blow and ruin good photo ops, 'tis true, but ferns usually grow in dark underbrush where the winds can't reach. Take that, stupid winds.