Got back from Big Sur last night and I miss it so much I
could cry. To deal with my post Sur blues, I’m photo-dumping these snaps from
my phone and playing Bon Iver’s For Emma on repeat (the album that heals all
heart wounds). A weak means of reliving the past couple of days. But I need
this vicarious consumption.
Ah, what I would give to be back on the cliffs, listening to
Holocene, with the deep blue Pacific to my left and endless green redwoods to
my right. I want to trek dirt trails amidst rolling brooks and tall trees. I
want to sleep under the stars and moon. I want to watch the sun set on
Bixby Bridge. I want to picnic in Andrew Molera, kombucha in hand, whilst waves crash
gently below my feet. I want to sit in the cool serenity of Henry Miller’s library. Eat
at Nepenthe. Hang out the car’s rooftop window with the crisp sea air hitting
me in the face and miles and miles and miles of beauty. There’s nothing better than that feeling.
O, Big Sur was like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.
But here I am, awake, and missing it like crazy.
(Stay tuned for film photos
& more off the road nostalgia)
xx
