So often when we fly the ethereal permeates us. This seems to happen most often when flying the SB area, so close to the center of things. Today the weather forecast was a little discouraging, so we talked about waiting for a better day. It couldn’t have been. Immediately after takeoff, once we climbed above the haze, puffy white clouds added notes of paradise along the coast or clinging to hills. The stuff of dreams.
We did keep close to home in case clouds moved over the airport again forcing us to land at Santa Ynez and take a bus or cab home. Also, the winds were pretty strong at the ridge line though turbulence was mild when we stayed high enough.
Over in the valley it was clear, and we enjoyed the timeless symmetry of the dance between agriculture and ranching.
Turning back toward home, what was probably a close and somewhat gloomy day at Gaviota Beach was for us a glorious soft work of art.
Minutes later, looking back along the coast toward Point Conception, the magic of it all was nearly unbelievable. We could well imagine how the Chumash people believed this to be the “Western Gate” where souls pass to the paradise of Similaqsa. To fly is to dream. To dream is to live.




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