Hollywood is deserted at 5:30am. A couple of cars, fluorescent streetlights, unusual calm. The lights opened up for us as we hurtled towards LAX, N & me, one, two, three, four -- all green, in an unprecedented show of support from the universe. He's going back to the east coast, to college, after a year at home and I'm both delighted and miserable. The Maharishi puts a cup of tea down next to me this morning, a lot earlier than usual, sits for a moment, says, "Think about the families whose children are shipping out to Iraq or Afghanistan, how they feel." Yes, it's true. My son isn't going to war. We pull up to the curb at Terminal 3, pull four bags out of the car, pile them onto a trolley. I kiss him goodbye, try not to be embarrassing, drive back up Century Blvd, La Cienega, Fairfax, watching the sky, the impossibly pretty pink and blue sky as the sun rises, wondering why don't we come out in this, early in the morning, greet the day, as this is the best time, the most glorious, when everyone else is sleeping, pull out my camera, try to capture it, lose for a moment my hatred of this city as the sun comes up over the piecrust of hills.