A Foggy Homeland

The sun that lingers through the middle of the day gets obscured as the late afternoon brings an army of fog that overtakes the land and then retreats each morning. Steinbeck's portrayal of the eerie mist that flows through cannery row and the top of a pot that sits on the Salinas valley each night, are quite accurate. A stillness lingers in the air here...things are much slower and relaxed it seems. Life bustles around me at a warm and yet cool pace. I hear the familiar cry of the seagulls that plague the warf and the row. I see "the lights of Monterey, comin' across the bay."
The warm atmosphere of the west end, ol' factory cafe contrasts with the gloomy grey outside. My eyes tire early here, as the days are spent in a new venture. I drink the new flavor of a red pale ale as I sit and watch the people of the west. I fit here, in this strange land where anything is possible.
I talked with God in the desert, as the eagle flew next to me, on top and beside and ahead and behind, between the mountains orange contrasting with the sky so blue, headed west in new life. A good thing this is, mixed with sadness and bittersweet fear, but the new dawn ahead brings much hope and life.

The first week in a strangely familiar land...a good week thus far, with new mission ahead still lingering, and peaceful sleep enveloping my heart.