Monday, March 24, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Hang loose. Stoked. Rip. Shred. Yo. Swell. Mavericks. SurfBetty. Gnarly. Diva. Curl. Mahalo.
A surfer's lifestyle is alluring. For one thing, they like to get up early to watch the sun come up. Most likely they're enjoying a good cup of coffee, barefoot on the shore. They're observant and patient and laid back, but serious in judging a set of waves. Contemplative and free. The still of the morning, the golden sand, the sea foam froth, waves curling for the surfer and her board.
Paddle out, catch a wave, fly.
In Morro Bay with my parents, taking our time walking the boardwalk, we found the sea otters lounging around on their backs, long legged egrets and herons tiptoeing around and sea lions soaking up the sun on the dock.
Cayucos offered up colorful pieces of beach glass and some tumbled wood and moss 'sponges'. Gifts from the salty sea.
What an amazing place the central coast is.
I didn't wear socks the whole time I was in California. One morning I saw that it was snowing in Wyoming, and I just laughed. But, what do you suppose I did when we got back yesterday? We went skiing, of course!
I learned the same thing as I always do when coming down from my high after traveling. And that is this:
There is nowhere else I'd rather live than right here, on my sage dotted prairie, in one of the last wild places.
Wyoming. Like no place on earth.