Little grey car and ocean air.

Yesterday at work I was listening to this song by The Phoenix Foundation called Buffalo.   Every time I hear it I see myself in my car driving down the coast highway, next to the diamond filtering dark blue respirating sea.  Big rocks, knee-high grasses and the cliff side.  Sharp colors, green, yellow, blue, brown. Sonoma County where the Russian River pours out.

When I flew back to California in September, after my brother's baby was born and when I still had my Versa to live in, I took an exit off the 101 one day that on my map led to the coast.  I discovered Sebastopol that way, ate carnitas for $2.00 from a parking lot taco stand, found a deal on Red Bulls and iced espresso drinks in the same place and then landed at a bright farmers market in the center of downtown.  I love the flowers in California. The happy space on the sidewalks.  All the magic in the stores. I love the hippies in Mendicino, too.  After that was all done I took the Russian River Highway all jagged and twisted to the coast.  That's when I found the sea again, me and the sea, always us together, always the rolling crawls then crashes that lead me on.  It was the perfect, perfect spontaneous road trip kind of day.

I keep seeing myself in that bliss.  Window down, sunglasses, little grey car and ocean air, rocks big as castles, water and yellowed grass. It's so real.  I dont know what's coming next.  I just hang on to this, this sense, this vision, because of the way it's so clear in my heart .  Me heading south again, maybe camping, near the coast where I belong.  I hang on because of how happy and natural it feels.