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Rapture Beach

The beauty of living by the beach is that even when you’re just going to pick up groceries at Smart & Final, you can still take the long way and walk by the beach. The beauty of being a photographer with a compulsive gear acquisition disease is that there’s a good chance you’ve got the tool for each situation. A few months ago I gave in and bought the camera I had wanted for the past five years, the camera that had actually brought me to Fujifilm but that first I could not afford, and then I could not justify. Last September I could finally afford and justify the Fujifilm X100, in its fifth edition (V). Long story short, it’s the perfect camera to fit in the pocket of my new REI jacket that keeps me super warm in the 20 cold days we have in California.

I walked down to the beach and this is what I saw.

The sand had been smoothened by the wind. No footsteps. No tracks. Just sand. It looked like a pure desert. I stepped closer to the sea. Another angle? Okay, because it’s just too beautiful.

For a second, I considered walking back up to the Esplanade. Not so much because I was defiling the carefully polished sand – yes I gave that some thought to be honest – but because of the sand whipping my bare legs at every gust. Con gusto. I also thought that my lens would probably like it as little as my calves. But hey, we all serve some greater purpose. Drive on and look at the texture of the beach.

The sea looked like this: it was a swirl of mint and blue and ice and foamy frosting.

As usually, I lost track of time as I strolled South. I was witnessing Redondo at its best, when the R ends up standing for Rapture. Rapture Beach.

In the end I got to Avenue H, and I decided I had taken in enough beauty. I was elated. I felt as if I had attended a thousand masses from a thousand churches. It was time to step back into life.

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