THE TRAIL YOU ARE BLAZING HAS LED YOU TO…
this one extraordinary bit of land, this Big Sur, this sudden, rough mix of elements and hold-in-the-hand substance.
I see it with my eyes, I see it in the faces and eyes and bodies of strangers who stand to experience the shock, the embrace, the startling intake, the welcoming thirst to want more to never leave.
Do locals tire of it? Is a complacency reached, a saturation when all events turn non-eventful. No.
It is the redwood windsong that I hear, my neighbor’s halloo: Have you seen the flower on the river bank? Look, look at those clouds! The ocean was unbelievable this morning…at dawn. Come this way, stand here, look at the mist over Apple Pie Ridge, can you believe…it’s violet!
There is no complacency, not in the eyes nor in the souls of all who come to this most west of western ground. It is perhaps the most welcome loss of innocence. It is perhaps the unmet friend.
The Hawks Perch 