Early February and the rains have stopped for a bit.
We race over the emerald hillsides
Watching feather clouds fan across the topaz sky.
Wildly strewn daffodils and fluttering acacia make my heart jump.
Gauzy yellow mustard stirs by the acre
Blanketing fields left fallow until spring.
Baby calf and lamb shins sink into the slurry mud in mama’s footsteps.
Skunky perfume of road kilt rodent
Disappears in gusts of ocean blown wind.
Point Reyes Station announces itself with early morning coffee and muffins.
I check at the bookstore for Larken’s book
And find it shining on the locals’ shelf.
We move through cypress forests and historic farmland preserves.
The ocean glistens in the distance and calls us
To follow the risky trail to McClure’s Beach.
Storm hammered nuggets of gold and silver line the long trail.
Fool that I am I persist in the dream and hope
For today’s peace to echo out to sea and beyond.
We search through seashore debris to pirate our treasures.
Baby brush and bottle nipple, soccer ball buoy,
Tattered rope and plastic doodads float on sand.
In the distance, splendid waves roar up on giant rocks,
and return to their mother sea.