Laurel Canyon, 1966

Bedroom window open, the sounds of a record playing in the distance floats through the trees, swirling with the sound of an acoustic guitar strumming in the next room. The smell of your lover lingers on your pillow, while their voice carries from the kitchen mixing with the laughter of friends who crashed last night. The faint smell of a freshly lit joint creeps under your door dancing with the patchouli on your silk scarves. A breeze blows in the dry woody canyon air drenching your room with golden sunlight.