I got to pondering old poems on the larger subject of this post while reviewing the last pix from our recent SF trip, starting with this little boat.
Anchored off Sausalito carrying several “dinghies” more valuable than our car, and probably costing more to operate for a day than our plane does for a year, this boat represents one archetype of upward mobility. But the view opens out to the quirky little city itself, where art mingles with wealth.
But more alive for me is the upward mobility brought by Tripp, as we rise above all this and beyond time itself in a way.
We were taking a quick afternoon trip to visit loved ones in Clear Lake before going home to Santa Barbara. Something impossible without an affordable trusty steed like Tripp. On the way home after our visit, the Bay shone in the hazy evening light illuminating another mobility. Upward from the past, when I wandered this area on the ground and savored the rare commercial flights that gave me a hasty glimpse of this scene through a milky plastic portal.
Looking back at an old barn among the golden hills of my youth brought a keen awareness of this upward arc.
Suddenly a few light squalls appeared alongside our route, and our steed easily climbed to find a way among them while treating us to a circular rainbow that we could only capture this slice of with the camera.
This view of heaven and earth is reserved for those who have chosen to devote at least the modest sum we’ve saved, to buy upward mobility of this kind. In a few minutes we were back in clear air and passing the familiar gently rolling hills of my California youth.
Golden light
Nectar, pouring through,
These hills.
My soul
Dipping
The warm burgundy
Wash of evening clouds
Mingling with
These hills.
Mile 37
Let me notice
What quickens the heart.
Caress of a hand,
Shape of a hillock,
Sound of a breeze.
What catches the eye.
Lone tree on a ridge,
Flicker of a fleeting movement,
Impulse of a photograph in time.
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