Bickering and pettiness marred the day prior,
even blackening a lovely drive to the coast,
the stresses of the last half year
bequeathing frayed nerves, uncivil tongues.
A big lunch in a small town
water buffalo ragu, tiny oysters, bitter chicories
culled from nearby farms
fueled conversation
and a drive further north.
A curvaceous seaside road traversed
in the dark for a mediocre motel meal
made fine
by a BYOB Meursault
tucked under the back seat
of the old wagon
for just such a predicament.
Cheap brandy and chocolate cookies and chamomile tea
brought to the room
by a doting waitress
further melted icebergs,
puddling into tears on the composite wood floor.
Swaying to old records
Johnny Mathis, Coltrane in Italy, Talking Heads
spun on a hipster player
by the light of a gas fireplace,
an orange crescent moon expending its strength
before collapsing into the ocean
exhausted by the plight of the world below,
tailing a trail of stars so bright I could no longer sleep
for fear of missing their spectacle.
First light at ocean’s edge
decked in heavy flannels and hunting boots,
heart lifted and hands full with
steaming green tea and smoldering green bud,
hands down
my favorite breakfast.
We wandered into the woods
taking care to keep track of each other
while giving wide berth
to privacy of thought,
to spiritual commune,
to rejuvenate and repair
and realign with gratitude.
The white noise of the Pacific
our audible compass,
baskets soon brimmed with mushrooms
cut at their bases
by an patined carbon knife,
which travels everywhere
I do.
Pigs’ ears and black trumpets,
chanterelles and hedgehogs,
cauliflowers and yellow foots
competed with carpets of candy caps,
their golden undersides
redolent of Vermont maple syrup
lavished on a not-too-short short-stack,
hands down
my second favorite breakfast.
Caked with mud and pine
and leaves and sticks
and pollen and spiders’ webs,
we’re eventually spit out of the forest
through the mouth of an old fire trail
giggling
tired
arms aching under the weight
of fungi finds,
fortified for the next chapter
until it’s once again necessary
to return to the woods
to avail ourselves
of Nature’s promise
for renewal. (at Sonoma Lost Coast)