Angels of the Night

January 05, 2010

Wander lust is in mmy bones and spaghetti sauce is in mmy veins. I’ve been lucky enough some might say to be able to travel while still being a healthy person. Moored times then not, just about every time though, the purpose was or the fact is that travel was all ways part of the chosen vocations. The process being the most important part of this life’s journey, I’ve followed wherever the colour or sounds asked mme to be.

MMined you the travels still happen from time to time but not as often as they did when in other daze it was more of a necessity for won reason or another. Amazingly enough, when actually counting these occurrences in total for the very first time a few months ago, the number was quite staggering when won considers the many equations in the MMicks.

The time and place the current poem was composed is one of the many recollection’s with Mother Nature in mmined; one of countless times visiting a most lovely part of northern California; The Point Reyes National Sea Shore.

This could be a very, very long story with more than who knows how many other sub - stories that I can tell you about Point Reyes; suffice it to say that rather than write a book at this point, aisle try to keep it a bit shorter and simplify to save other tomes for future ramblings.

Point Reyes was one of the first pacific beaches I visited when a first time resident in California; July 1972, I think it was. Don’t quote mme; I’ll have to look that one up. Point Reyes was also the last pacific beach I visited just before leaving California the last time in 2007. It is one of mmy favourite places to visit and perhaps due to the relentless fog at certain times, it’s a most mysterious one.

The following poem concerns one of the instances on a visit with a dear friend who as we speak is trying to find her next dream in Switzerland. Maybe it’s this time eh, R? In any case mmy wish is still for your happiness; hope you’re having a good time due wing what end who you love.

R, like most times we traveled together was driving when visiting Point Reyes. We had driven for about four or five hours from further north where we both were living; a little challenge in itself considering the directions we didn’t take care to figure out before hand. Although I actually lived in Marin for over 20 years the short cut we took, wasn’t; but like a great friend who introduced mme to that place and many more like it on mmy initial introduction to that state, I’mm always in the mmined set that there is no such thing as… lost. Fortunately mmy vacationing partner soon realised this and the tantrums eased through a great escape.

Most travelers who tend to find the greatest pleasures while sticking to the back rodes know there is NO lost. There always is and always will be another way as you’ll find out if you haven’t already. So fear not except when time is of the essence of course. It or whatever one is trying to find in the scents of place will be there upon your arrival.

Earth only moves in either a Mother Nature catastrophe or sometimes a man made one, the latter not as obvious. There’s a good chants whatever you’re trying to find, you will; sometimes it may take a little longer but depending on what you’ll find in the process, it may be a better experience because of it. Also take into account that I’ve no clue about deserts, too many to mention foreign countries or froze in tundra’s ‘fore that madder. Although one time I can remember wearing a bathing suit in a snowdrift was in an unusually warm mountain retreat, the only times I’ve traveled to cold wasn’t for a vacation.

This instance, poem, story, whatever you want to call it was after R ‘n I checked into a local on Tomales Bay resort. A second floor, front wall of windows view of the bay and not too mention gorgeous weather besides, was our stay. Most of you who have been to this area know that many mornings are draped in fog which quickly from the heat of the sun ‘burns off’ a few hours later and you’re a witness to sum amazing eye candy. This happens a lot during the seasons change and this day was no different. We often fed a family of sea gulls who landed in our mist on the back rail facing the high or low tied of the bay.

After an in our room coffee and no breakfast whatsoever but a great, extravagantly expenseive meal the night before at Vladimir’s, a local and long standing Czechoslovakian restaurant, we headed out to find a glory us day at the Point. Driving for under a half hour I guess, we were getting close to not only the point but anywhere one ventures to find anything in nature, this preserve will serve you well; where we decided to make our first stop and walk the rest of the way is when we met up with something left by:

Angels of the Night

Shortly after approaching
An unguarded entrance
We slowly meandered
Through the rolling mist
Fog drifting in a hush
Lingering just long enough
To greet us like a friend
Leisurely encircling us
Grasping our vision
With its transparent vapor touch
At the same moment
Advancing wild spinning curls
Traveling beyond
Its daily morning ritual
Journeying towards
Higher ground covering
Thick to thin green clusters
An ancient forest’s mixture of trees
Stretching to the clouds
Listing at varying degrees
Like monumental offerings
Seemingly held in place
By earth hugging bushes
Amber and gold grasses
Pinnacles waving with the wind and
Standing guard at their feat
The narrowly descending
Charcoal toned with age
Two lane country road
Undivided by streaks of man
Sparkled with the morning dew
Its curved surface glistening
Like tiny tinted jewels
Painted by the Gods of reign
Left there, bye
Angels of the night.