“Against one perfect moment, the centuries beat in vain.” Sir Terry Pratchett, Thief of Time.

A wood bench on a sidewalk overlooking La Jolla Cove.

Seventy-one-degree weather.

Warm late afternoon California sun and a cool gentle Pacific breeze.

Toddlers and teens climbing on the rocks and in and out of the cave. The slightly anxious parents following the toddlers.

Red kayaks a mile or so off bobbing up and down in the surf like so many fishing lures.

Swimmers seemingly appearing out of nowhere but really probably coming from the opposite shore a couple of miles off.

Seals sunning themselves, rousing only to drive off the cormorants that were beginning to encroach on their lounging space.

Sea lions splashing in the water, their booming barks ricocheting off the cliff, menacing the snorkelers who had wandered into territory the sea lions felt was theirs.

An older gentleman softly playing free-form jazz on his trumpet with perfect pitch and a round golden tone.

It was a perfect moment.


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