The higher picks of Klugh
and his nylon-strung guitar threaten Deja vu as the redwood hallway approaches.
The sun filters through the giants in angled beams and splashes the road making
long shadows and lighting the ferns afire. Ancient aromas, scorched yesterdays, and long
fallen allies are the “garden” here on 128.
The river becomes ocean
and a fresh salt of air steams through my nose and weds my eyes to a blue expanse- a pause, a
look at a welcoming spout with a vigilance that knows the reward I search for -Kenny offers a falsetto ballad through the tides and into whatever
mood my lover, the ocean, shows me…
Mendocino Magic awaits,
and for a time nothing holds me; even my shoelaces are nervous...
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