Myers is a writer, songwriter, storyteller, and senior lecturer at Santa Clara University. Find him at www. The phone rang, she asked if she could go, and within an hour my wife and I had kissed her, dropped her off, and were heading south on Highway The sun was shining, but not with force; diffuse gray clouds high in the and southwest, though dim with distance, seemed poised to move forward and mist over the warmth of the day.
At first we talked intensely, as we always do at those rare times when we find ourselves alone, catching up and spilling over with all the deeper things our daily routine prevents us from looking into and sharing—especially about our children. But with the whole day before us, a luxury we only gradually came to believe in, we began to slow ourselves, feeling the unspeakable happiness of simply being together, of having time in which to let our shared life move at its own tranquil pace.
The dense urban geometry of the Valley soon gave way to the wealthy, tree-thick neighborhoods at the foot of the coastal mountains, and the road began to climb, sweeping in tight forest-lined curves as it reached toward the summit of the low pass separating the South Bay from the coast. The sun
Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind grow warmer, then cooler, but only by a little. Traffic was heavy through Santa Cruz itself, but we sang to the radio, reached over and caressed each other idly from time to time, talked when something came to mind and then slipped back happily into silence.
The road was reduced to a single lane because highway workers were felling old eucalyptus trees and carrying off the cut logs; that spicy fragrance filled the air, and through our open windows we reveled in it, as we always do, even Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind the whine and gas-smell of chain-saws: The wild flowers along Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind way, even in early March, were beautiful beyond words: And of course the sea—in that light taking on a slightly dullish blue shifting at times to gray, at other times hinting, when clouds momentarily thinned, at full royal blue or indigo—and stretching as if limitless as far as we could see to west, north, and south.
From Santa Cruz the highway passes through mixed Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind, mostly coastal chaparral but with stands of timber everywhere, towering eucalyptus and the needle-thick grace of Monterrey pines, and, just to the east, redwood and other forests beginning as the land swells up into foothills and then mountains.
We passed Davenport, its few little neighborhood blocks set on a rise high above the ocean, gray cement plant rearing from behind a screen of trees. As we had from the beginning of the trip—as we always do—we kept pointing it all out to each other: Check out the hidden canyon. Whoa—did you see those wildflowers?
Neither of us held anything back, not the least bit of excitement, of wonder, of childish happiness. We need to bring our bikes and take that trailwe said. We need to try that beach.
Someday we should drive that road and see where it goes. At Ano Nuevo we bought a map and then stopped at a small gate north of the main entrance.
I brought our hurriedly-made lunch from the cooler in the back and we sat eating it in the car, looking out in beauty-hushed silence at the fields and the enormity of sea beyond them.
We were hungry; the sandwiches were delicious—turkey and Jarlsberg on sesame bagels, with lettuce, pickles, onions. We had apples and raw carrots, felt that satisfying snap as we bit into them. The water in our bottles tasted
Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind fresh and clean as the day around us.
There was a slight chill in the air, that same easy battle between sun and cloud over the sea. We put on our jackets and set out for the beach. Everything was green with the winter rains, and rain had fallen a day or two earlier; even the tire-pounded earth of the little parking area near the gate was bursting with patches of new grass, as perfectly green as across the hillsides to the east. Southward we could see a broad field full of the yellow wildflowers; the color shone piercing and luminous through dark bordering trees, unearthly in its radiance.
In places the trail was boggy; we had to cross jury-rigged bridges of small logs and old two-by-fours set in muddy sections.
We balanced; we splashed; we laughed. At the far edge of the fields we stood on cliffs of earth only twenty or thirty feet above the beach. It was low tide; everywhere we went along the shore the seafloor was exposed, and we realized this as we made our way south, congratulating ourselves on the luck of coming at just this time, when the great ocean had rolled back and revealed part of its hidden self.
At first we stayed up on the earthen cliffs, walking, gazing out, watching birds. We laughed about that too. Wildflowers sprinkled the grasses—the incandescent yellow ones here and there, like bits of St. After a while we came to a scattered stand of trees, eucalyptus and Monterrey pine again.
A small but intense bunching of the yellow flowers, invisible till we were standing next to it, had taken hold among the whitened trunks of fallen eucalyptus.
Other trees had collapsed onto the beach as the wet ground beneath them gave way—some in previous winters—and lay there bleached and skeleton-like on fine-grained sand. Here we found a descending Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind to the beach, feeling a bit of pain in our knees as we worked our Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind down a steep sandy pitch covered with ice plants, the serried pale aloe-like leaves dotted with purple and raspberry-colored flowers.
It was wonder after wonder, small as a leaf, broad as the sky. Still we kept calling each other, pointing things out. Close to the fallen trees the first creek emptied onto the beach—small but rain-swollen and mud-colored, it burst right out of a lower section of the tawny dirt cliffs, plunging three or four "Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind" and then rushing over an expanse of breadloaf-sized stones toward the low surf.
Its chattering among the stones was beautiful—not comely, but pure, wild, a hissing and gurgling, giving off a feeling of cold clean water, a sense of northern oceans. And we kept crossing creeks like this—most of them probably existing only after heavy rains—but each of the five different from the rest: Along the open beach, wide and flat, we walked and kept looking, sniffing in the pungent sea smell and the clean wind. The tide-lifted stones massed or scattered along parts of the beach were stunning; Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind the slow flow of time, in the cloud-drift and endless calm breaking of the easy surf, it felt as if the whole earth were breathing in and out with the waves, a measured, contented, animal respiration—and we were part of it, could look down at this rock or that one, stoop to pick up another, brush off the sand, wash it in the channels of fresh water hurrying past, hold it up and watch the sun strike it.
It was still a bit chilly, but the walk had warmed us. Ahead we saw a deep-brown shelf of rock, about eight feet high, set horizontally against the earthen cliffs and extending along the beach for a couple of hundred yards, broken here and there as if a floor Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind gaping holes in it, so that between the terrace-pieces beach sand randomly intervened, surf pushing forward in its noisy low rushes and swirling against the dark terrace bottoms.
So we climbed a small slope of hard black knobbed ground and walked the terraces. There were tide pools here and there, brilliantly sunlit, and the terrace surface, though generally flat, was shaped in many places into fluid and art-like swellings and curvings of stone. Much of it was riddled with small holes, probably from rock-boring sealife—and many of the hole-riddled stone mounds were filled with broken white clam or mussel shells, some ivoried by the elements, most egg-shell white.
We stood at the edges of the terraces and watched the surf break beneath us, leaping up at the rocks, foaming and receding. My wife found a bit of shell rich with shining nacre, layered in rough ovals as if some kind of armor; its rainbow reflections in the strengthening sunlight held us silent with awe. Further along the beach we suddenly stopped; to the left of us, nestled cozily against a low dune, was the huge form of a napping elephant seal, log-brown and loglike, only thirty feet away.
As we watched, it raised a golden-brown flipper lazily, seeming almost to gesture, then let it drop. The sun came out in earnest; the day grew warm, even hot. She took off her jacket, I took off mine. We tied them around our waists. When we crossed the small beach creeks and had to wade a little, the cool of the water felt good against our feet as it came through our shoes and socks.
Here and there a pinnacle rose in the sunlight, the chalky dryness of its upper portions showing how it stood above the sea even at high tide. But everything else across this dark jagged boneyard was sea-secret, except for now, beaming sun working half-effectually on its wet surfaces and on the remaining pools in sandy deeps or rocky bowls.
We went slowly, stepping from rock to rock, looking for flat ones, our feet wrenching to the side sometimes when a rock would shift or roll beneath us; we could feel the rock-edges through the soles of our shoes. There were acres of
Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind drying submarine rock, but we picked our way through, moving slowly, feeling the happiness of working our muscles, of clean sweat. Here and there hardened sections of tide-packed sand, beige as it half-dried in the sunlight, gave us Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind easier path through the jumble.
We kept looking down, then looking up, placing our feet carefully but drawn again and again to the wild shapes of the rocks, the black tumbled piles, the sudden low ridges, the craggy up and down of their brief time in the open air, waves lifting their white heads beyond as if hungry to return.
Near the trail that would take us back up, we saw a man and woman sitting on a stretch of sand at the foot of one of the earthen cliffs. They waved as we drew near, then pointed behind them to their right. Did you see that?! We drew up, looked—and stepped back involuntarily.
As we spoke excitedly to the couple, the great animal raised its head, huge proboscis bobbing, and looked at us—and I marveled at the contrast between its overall blubbery ugliness and those sorrowful, liquid, pup-like eyes.
My wife warned me about poison oak. As we re-crossed the field toward the parking area, a hawk worked the chaparral off in the distance and gulls passed high overhead.
More than once I had to call her from her sea-gazing, which threatened, as it often does, to draw the selkie-soul right out of her body, leaving only the shell of a human woman behind on the beach. I can still feel how those slow perfect hours unwound.
And I can sense how we seemed to have stepped into Love itself—an overflowing love that filled everything with radiance—even in the early chill of a half-gray day, the raw grain of rocks, the bone-white of dead tree trunks, the waste reaches of the sea. And the love we felt for each other, unspoken, as if invisible, was for those long silent
Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind hours indistinguishable from the love that burns in all things.
The sky overhead was now a flawless blue, almost emptied of clouds. Along the highway we watched the sea, then turned northwest back into the mountains. Her short fiction has been published in numerous journals, magazines and anthologies. The mockingbird perched on the deck rail has been bombarding my sliders for days. It sits, beak open, before it takes flight and flutters, wings outspread, in front Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind the exposed panel or until it gets a foothold on the side covered by the screen.
Every once in a while it ruffles its feathers and puffs up to twice its size. The splats are a lovely shade of purple "Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind" bird shit. On the phone this morning I told my friend Bonnie about the bird and she reminded me about the sparrows that kamikazed my studio windows every spring for several years after I renovated the building and replaced the broken out panes.
I flinched at every thud and ended each day disposing of their small black bodies, some of them still warm. One of your girls captured it. It died in her hand. Not time to nest or establish a territory. Last night we came close to a freeze. Today the air shimmers; the "Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind" is still blue, but not for long.
Almost all of the boats have been pulled from their moorings. The trees are baring their limbs. Flocks of Canada Geese have been seen heading south. Any bird with a lick of sense is out of here — except for my OCD mockingbird, cocking it head at me, one beady eye, sizing up the slider, looking for a way to get in. I putter around the kitchen listening to the thumps as it attacks again. I finish washing the breakfast dishes, dry my hands and cautiously approach the sliding doors.
The bird lifts off and hovers in front of me, its belly pale gray, the undersides of its wings feathered black, white and a darker gray. A total of cows, grouped according to parity, location and coat colour, were used Xu, Feng; Chen, Tong; Wang, Xue-Qin; Guo, Astronaut dating tayo song colors of the wind Li, Jian-An; Su, Jian-Bin linked to a comprehensive regional laboratory repository dating back to Special load research procedures are presented for solar, windand.
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