I want to tell you about the brilliance of the sunset catching waves and riding to shore on a golden pathway I am tempted to follow.
I want to tell you about the mist riding so low over the bay that turning south onto Kasten street feels like stepping into a watercolor dream sequence.
I want to tell you about the places to hide amongst ancient rocks, the spots where you can almost touch the ocean and the feeling of forever.
I want to tell you about the arch of a seagulls wing as it coasts, the boomerang shape it takes stretched out soaring and how I wish I could glide with it over the crest of a wave.
I want to tell you about the mischevious ravens who recognize the faces of friend and foe and the woman who writes a murder as she shares bits of her sandwich out the window of her mini-cooper, twelve ravens in tow.
I want to tell you about the depth of the milky way, a celestial river swooping through the night sky, the intricate flow of her details coming to life in the darkness.
I want to tell you about the layers of warmth found in sunkissed sand and the magnificence of the indomitable redwoods, rebirthed and rejoicing.
I want to tell you about the ecstatic dance of dog on beach, running full tilt into the sun, into the sea, chasing the ball that whistles his name as it touches the heavens.
I want to tell you about the feeling of the fog rolling in after a long summer, the way it disappears the ocean and blankets the village in a reminder of the present moment.
I want to tell you about the hummingbirds zipping from holly to heather, blackberry to belladonna, their chirping the sound of delicate ghosts speaking forgotten names.
I want to tell you about the awe of watching whales breach at sea, wonderous and filled with the whispers of ancestors.
I want to tell you about the changing of the seasons, how perfectly punctuated their passage becomes in a land with more dirt and trees and than concrete and cranes.
I want to tell you about all the ways I’ve learned to look since leaving, since returning, since coming face-to-face with a mirror of myself in the eyes of the natural world; all of the ways I rise and fall with the seasons, understanding balance not as a static state, but the act of finding stability while traveling uneven terrain.
There is so much I have yet to tell you about the mysterious and the magical.
There is so much I have yet to learn.