The yellow mixes with the blue in a quiet unmatched by the wind humming through the weirdly placed Eucalyptus trees nearby. The crisp, dying sunlight filters through dead-looking stalks like memory. A snake, black and white, strolls by in the late evening, enjoying it, too. Finely-grained details provide the background. A perfect meal of green beans fried in bacon fat, matched with macaroni and cheese featuring gruyere and a crisp, subtle Anderson Valley white.
The owner comes out and chats you up. The view directly in front of the open door, a bifurcated redwood growing out of the ground right in front of you, red and green, a 65 degree coolness to the air.
You don’t know what to expect. The lights across the water like a million stars. What are they doing? Vacation, work, building the space for magic? A dog dying, looking out at the blue Bay among the golden hills. “Baby, you look like silver and glitter like Klondike gold.” The sound of the waves lapping among the wrip-wrap rocks is hollow. What a hasty, stupid way to prevent erosion. (Is it?) A day for magic, a night for opening up. What do you say?