After a warm holiday with family in the foothills west of San Jose, we flew to Fresno on our way home. Climbing east toward the central valley, we enjoyed the golden rolling hills.
0321 Golden Hills
People from other places sometimes say this doesn’t appeal to them. For me it’s cozy as an old tan woolen blanket. As a kid riding for miles in our family car I’d often imagine the friendly giant waking. He’d clamber yawning from beneath that blanket and wink at us. But soon on this memorable flight (true, they all are), we approached Fresno.
0322 Fresno Blanket
It lay beneath a different blanket, of acrid haze only a few hundred feet thick. People down there seem to take little notice of what they’re breathing, but as we descended toward the airport only our Molly mission kept us from turning above it and heading straight home to SB. Visually though, I like the sleepy village look it gave to the sprawling city. Even more, I like the contrast it gives to the high Sierras glinting in the sun beyond.
John & Anne Wiley 
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