Frogtown.

Tonight I came closer than I ever have to the LA River. I went to the Frogtown Artwalk (Frogtown: something to do with a plague of frogs many years ago; a little snip of land between the 5 and the river). Tonight is one of those nights when all LA has an overlay of magic. I love LA in the winter. It's 64 degrees and almost chilly. I walked along the LA River footpath and followed glowing green balloons through the dark down to the sandy water's edge. The river was probably 50 feet across, the widest I've ever seen it. Fringed by bamboo and other leafy things, gurgling and flowing like any river should.

I really love connecting with the LA art scene. All of us wandering around looking at art and architecture, and each other, could have been in Brooklyn, Chicago, San Francisco, anyplace where people put out cheese and crackers and sangria in their fabulous beamed lofts where the smell of oil paint, dust and turpentine mingle most bewitchingly. I met an elderly dalmatian the same age as mine and a large white pit bull with brown spots. I saw some transcendent oversize color photographs of the Mexico/U.S. border. I looked longingly into people's spare industrial loft living spaces. I drove back through Silverlake and Los Feliz. I've been househunting lately and I'm getting the feeling that my house is out there, much like the feeling that one's true love is out there in the world before that fateful meeting occurs. My house-to-be, I believe, is in the 90026 area code.