The Pacific disappeared yesterday evening well before sunset, slipping into a veil of fog just beyond where the foamy edge of waves rolled onto the beach. I stood on the (Heath)cliff edge of the headland held back only by salal and scrubby junipers, the path down to sea level slippery and steep, eroded. No way would I attempt that descent, even with the help of the thick coil of rope strung for a railing. A few hundred yards south, a hobbit path on level ground winds through a tunnel of rhododendrons and blackberry vines, followed by a more civilized concrete stairway. At what point in the past few years have I lost my desire/ability to dare myself down a tricky slope? It happens, I suppose, when one is least paying attention. I recall my mother, about my age, taken to falling, and I get it now.Sometimes it's okay just to walk beside the river. Sometimes there is no need to cross it.
And in the swirling light I found a hidden garden, where I'm certain the air held droplets of reflected blue —
what an enchanting secret garden....
ReplyDeletewhen we were younger, a slide down over the cliff was easier to recover from. Now, not so much. I'm much more temperate in my hiking and do not take the risks I used to. This is probably all to the good, and like you say, there is still plenty to see from our current vantage point.
A couple of friends, a bottle of wine, and a warm evening. Yes, I can see myself sitting in that secret garden.
ReplyDeleteI now have a visual for the perfect secret garden, a new Happy Place. xo
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