This used to be a great place to sit quietly and listen to frogs, and wind. Now it’s bone dry, and there’s no glacier runoff, or even a glacier. All gone.
The road winds slowly north to Anchor Bay. Cells say “No Service”. Redwoods and moss breathe salty sea cooled mist as Inner oceans grow calm and clear. This balance is ancient.
A decade later some things look the same
while brambles’ insidious creeping weaves
new textures each year. Old pathways are gone.
So stand still, here. This is Pescadero.
The road winds slowly north to Anchor Bay.