At the Dale Chihuly exhibition at the Denver Botanic Gardens, I walked from the Perennial Walk to the Monet Pool to the Japanese, Montane, Licac, and Rose gardens. In each, blown glass sculptures intermingled with the landscaping. Vermilion prongs rose up from a bed of basket-of-gold and lilies. Mauve prongs rose out of a lake. Spidery, succulent-like glass of every color grew out of water or among ferns or sage bushes. Royal blue spheres floated down a river and ones of bright yellow, orange, and blue piled into an abandoned boat. A Willy-Wonka, Alice-in-Wonderland fantasy world of nature and art.

Malibu, California

We'd just eaten a lunch of fried cod and lemonade at Malibu Seafood and were driving back to Los Angeles on the Pacific Coast Highway. We wanted to get closer to the ocean, so we found a place to pull over and parked. The beach there was all rocks and old cement blocks. We tottered over them while taking in the view. The cars roared and the waves crashed. The air smelled like salt and, just a little, rotting vegetation. Everywhere I looked I saw lines: the coastline, the ocean abutting it, the highway, and a line of wooden posts, water- and wind-worn, holding up the ghost of an old pier.

Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception

With Lent coming up, I've been thinking about habits I rely on too much or ones that aren't useful to me anymore. What would it be like to give them up for forty days? People have used this time to try to make positive changes in their lives, do something that's hard for them, care more, give more, or pray more. I read a post on someone's Facebook page about turning problems into opportunities, and that resonated with me. I lean too much on the idea that I'm stuck in one situation or another, so during Lent, I want to rethink that idea. How am I not stuck? How could I get unstuck? How can I get excited about my life, not just for something that may happen in the future, but for something that's happening right now?

Frost on Tree II

More frost, crystals, fractals, and magical ice castles

Frost on Tree

On a freezing January morning, a thick frost covered the trees—tiny, sharp crystals; delicate white branches; fractals. This kind of frost is called "hoar frost," from an Old English adjective meaning "to show signs of age." Knobby, hunchbacked trees with white hair and beards. But frost also gives the impression of stopping time. Maybe that's what makes it seem magical, bringing to mind ice castles, white witches, and snow queens—places and people outside the rules of time, always beautiful but never changing.

Getty Museum

I exited the rear of the Getty, expecting to find a modest patio. Instead, I looked out over an impossibly tall, boot-shaped cactus garden and, beyond that, Los Angeles. I skirted the patio to find the museum's massive central gardens, where I followed a narrow, tree-lined path and crossed a stream that traversed, at turns, aquatic plants, massive chunks of stone, and manicured pebbles. Near the bottom of the path, bougainvillea arbors jutted out of the plaza, as delightfully over-dressed as ladies in waiting.

Olomana Trail

We reach a grove of Casuarina trees after a steep hike over slippery red dirt. Casuarina trees look like long-needled pines but are ironwoods, trees with a reputation for strength and durability. The low-hanging braches that graze the ground add to the feeling of protection and shelter. But windows through the thin, knobby leaves lend a sense of playfulness. After a few minutes under this natural cover, we continue on, and up.