This weekend, Tucker and I headed north over the bay bridge. Our friend wrote a book, and since it was inspired by the sea, we went to the beach to read it aloud and discuss editing. Since there was no chair for Tucker to sit in during our meeting, he chose to sit on the log.
We paid the $10 to park at Castle Rock because there wasn't any free street parking, but rather than follow the people up the western trail to the forest reminiscent of a fairyland with gnarled trees and amazing rock formations, we crossed over Skyline Blvd to where we were allowed: the east side.
I don’t know what we missed out on being on the east side, but we did have our own unique experience where we were welcomed. Once I was out of sight of the cars and pavement, I was in a place like no other I had experienced on the Peninsula. The rocks and trees had grown together throughout the centuries and stood in a still frame of their life dance together.
Whether it’s in the woods, on the bluffs, along the mountains ridge, or walking at the sea’s edge, Tucker and I are not trying to disengage from the world; we’re yearning to reconnect to the universe.