For the third time in a row, I walk into a sunset in the Altadena foothills. It’s a nice habit. It’s trash day, after christmas, the bins are full of cardboard boxes, colorful and glittery wrapping paper, and a pair of soccer cleats that look unused–it may not be what you asked for, but did you have to throw them away? Dejected, imported trees will line the sidewalks a week from now. The deflated cloth reindeer, penguins and snowmen will be returned to an attic, garage or closet. The ornament someone hung on the bell rung by joggers and hikers who reach the top of the concrete stairs at the ruins of the Echo Mountain Resort will most likely have disappeared. I’ll have to remember to write 2019 until it becomes automatic, which can take a few weeks. But I bet the flock of peacocks who’ve found a home in the neighborhood I walk through on my way to the Rubio Canyon trailhead will still hang out in the great cedars, and lazily make their way up to the shelter of its upper branches after sunset, as I walk by, and long after.