Landing the rich rainbow of humanity spilling from In-N-Out iconic rust red span fading into cloud rattle and shredding bark of eucalyptus seafoam so white it radiates light headlands scented like moors pelicans flying in brackets everything muted, slowed down by fog’s clammy breath round amethyst and emerald orbs weighing down vines trained to neat, orderly rows the twisting road and trim fields and brown hills recalling Tuscany oaks sculpting a cool, dappled tunnel to wend through now into the mossy, musty dark|solid|linear redwoods - echoing a nave’s columns, throwing shafts of filtered sun like the Holy Ghost and then the coast: you hit it reel even more chide yourself to think of the road, the traffic, steal glances anyway, like your first-crush suckerpunch looks, undeniable although you know they’ll leave you doubled over But you’d probably do the same in my state. So many stunning ways to live, but only one little go around allowed. And only one way to go about it right: to be bowled over wherever you land. |