Gaviota Dawn

Gaviota Beach and trestle bridge.

An early fall morning, just before dawn, and Gaviota Canyon is doing yeoman service as a wind tunnel. The Sundowner winds peculiar to this area are magnified by the narrow pass behind me and they’ve been rocking cars, pulling tent pegs, and making campfires impossible for the past 12 hours.

A fine grit pervades everything, and I wonder how long it will take me to clean up.

But two months (or more, I’ve lost track) of nonstop work, travel, and “drama, not otherwise specified” have made medicine of a couple of days plotzed in a campsite. The waves crash, the squirrels, ospreys, and Monarch butterflies go about their business, and they catch me up in their rhythm, allowing me to reset my tempo and reflect in a way I could not last weekend in a Chicago hotel room.

So I will take the grit. And as the sun rises, I start to see the path forward with unaccustomed clarity.

I reach for my boots. It is time to begin.


America, the cloudless

The late night flight United from Newark to Los Angeles was magnificent. There was nary a cloud from takeoff all the way across the country and just a few broken coastal high clouds over San Bernardino. Beyond that, America was in full evening wear, one sparkling galaxy of lights after another all across the country.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a flight where I could see the ground the whole way across the country. What an unexpected delight!

Flying is never an unbound joy, but last night it was a pleasure.