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What calls to us from the comforts of home?
What beckons us back to the road?
The van was simple
A self-contained vessel to
drive in
sleep in
cook in
explore with
We got to Morro Bay before the fish market closed
Montaña de Oro by sunset
Enough time to jump in the water, frigid
As the kayak fishermen paddled ashore
On a lonely pull-out we had dinner and wine
And didn’t think once of home
Out here on the plain above the ocean
Was where we were supposed to be
The next morning we had our coffee
On the water, watching the otters
Pelicans flying north
Dolphins swimming south
A couple of elders wished us well
“We sure hope you enjoy it here,”
We meandered up the One
Crossing the latitudes
Watching the plants change
Through Santa Cruz and SF
Until we reached Lucas Valley
The light was turning gold
As the canopy thickened
We wondered would it look any different
With the sun at High Noon
Quietly we moved through that still valley
As if holding our breath
Emerging to the setting sun’s reflection
On the surface of Nicasio
Through Point Reyes and Bolinas
Steep Ravine to Limantour
We drove and got out and observed
And walked around
Cruising through the morning grey
To find a place to light the stove
A proper place to sit and
Let the coffee greet the day
One day we headed south
Left for Stinson, straight for Muir
Fish burritos on Ocean Beach
Made our way to Monterey
Slept off a creek in Big Sur
A place that always calls
But holds its secrets close
Before the redwoods faded out
We pulled off high above the sea
One last time to take it in
Queue the condors gliding by
We arrived back home like any trip
—different than how we left
We could never put our finger on how
But the memories speak for themselves
C.W.
