I just had two days off, and although it was in a lot of ways what I would call relaxing, you know, you go to the beach, you lay down. You hike through some forest, you discover another beach, you lay down. You feel the earth beneath your spine, you read a book, you eat a sandwich, you look around... Solitude. Serenity. The beauty of Northern California. Sure. It's good. Good for you. Good for Ye Olde Soul.

Thing is, if you're mind is on something else, it's difficult to get all MINDFUL. And to make matters more complicated, as fate would have it, The Book I was just getting started on just happens to have a main character who shares the name of the person I'm trying not to think about. (Thank you Fate. You're Awesome) So there I am, on the beach, on the trail, on the couch, on the pot, it doesn't matter where I am, and every so many moments, BOOM. "Hi! Just wanted you to think about this, in case you'd forgotten. I'll make it easy for you by making it a nice bold font for you. I'll make the font a color you happen to like, and I'll just float the word on a blanket of white, so that it doesn't get lost amongst all the other words on the page..."


I mean, it's good. It's good for me. Good lesson. You know, you are forever signing up for things. You "put it out there" and the world finds a way to manifest your dream. It comes back to you in spades. You just have to be good and grounded, and I promise you that without fail, the world will conspire to "help" you find your way.

So I went out to Limantour Beach, and I gotta tell you. That place never bores me. Talk about a nice drive. A nice forest. A nice beach. I mean, you're out there by yourself, it's 75, 80˚ and the breeze is welcome, the waves are serene, the colors are punching you in the face, and if you're anything like me, you've got a fucking DELICIOUS sandwich in your backpack, and all is right with the world. In my case, I was indecisive at Sandwich Time, so I brought 2. I brought a Meatloaf & Brie sandwich on sliced sour dough, and a Roast Beef & Provolone sandwich on wheat nut. I ate a half of each, and they were like I said earlier. Fucking Delicious™.

The next day, I went out to Heart's Desire beach on the bay. I was on my way to McClure's to maybe chill with some elk, but it turned out as I started climbing the hill there, I could see the fog out on the coast, and decided I would bank to the east and pull on down to Tomales Bay. EXCEPTIONAL choice. Man, that place is like a mystical magical indian fairy tale. It was awesome. Really. So I hiked on out to this one beach, you have to go through the forest to get there, and it's like you're in that movie Labyrinth, or The Never Ending Story, or Pocahontas, or something. Anyway, I got out there and posted up on this beach, similar to Limantour in that it's all you. You're on the beach and maybe there's some pelicans around, or some seagulls, but aside from that it's you and some sand, & some beauty.

So I'm laying there in the sand reading my book and there's this seagull that comes along. Beautiful bird right? I mean, if seagulls had models, this one was a Giorgia Palmas or whatever. Great looking bird. So I say, "Here's a good looking bird. Maybe she'd like some popped corn..." I mean, if I were a bird, you can bet your ass I'd like me some popped corn. Walking around the beach, not much else to do, except maybe look for some food, and here comes some cool guy with a sack of popped corn? I mean, it's a no brainer.

So I shell out some kernels, and the bird is getting pretty into it. Getting all BRAVE, you know, coming closer. Looking at me all sideways, and I think, "Hey, maybe I can get this bird to model for me." I mean, call me lonely. Call me depressed. Call me what you want, but at the time it seemed like something to DO. So, I reach for my camera, and in that very moment, this OTHER bird comes on down from the sky. A seagull, sure, but not as hot. Kind of like, I don't know. I don't know the names of any ugly models. I mean, I won't say this bird was UGLY, but it wasn't a seagull super model. It wasn't all perfect. I mean, okay. Maybe it was perfect. Who's ever heard of a seagull that wasn't perfect? But it wasn't as you know, Flawless as that first one.

So anyways, this 2nd bird comes down, and he scares the pretty one away, and then he's all, "I'll be your fuckin' model. Where's the popped corn?! Ha?! Gimme the popped corn, and i'll be your little seagull model. I'll be your little monkey, dancing around getting all GULLY for it. Whatever you want. Just gimme the corn (dawg)!" - I mean, he wasn't talking. It was all in the walk.

Fine. So i give him some popped corn. He's into it. I say, "look to the left." he looks to the left. I say, "Look to the right." he looks to the right. (meanwhile, the pretty bird is sort of skulking off in the distance, all pissed about the popped corn) and I say, "okay bird. Now just look at me. Put your beak right here. (pointing to the lens)" and son of a bitch, the bird is a natural. So there I am on the proverbial TARMAC, and I got this bird doing his little fashion shoot. I say, "Okay bird, make like an American Bald Eagle." He throws me a profile. I say, "Not your good side bird, show me your OTHER American Bald Eagle." He flips to the other side. And i think to myself, "what have i become? I'm a god damned middle aged man working a glorified pigeon for some shots in exchange for some organic hippy flavored popped corn on a god forsaken beach in the middle of nowhere." This is what it all comes down to.

So I lay up the camera, and tell the bird to scraminos (el prontimenté like).

About this time, the fog comes in, right on down the bay, and it's gorgeous right? The air is still warm, but the fog is really socking it in. It's beautiful, and i'm there alone on the beach thinking about this girl, and my book is making it easy. And then here comes the pretty bird. So i say to the bird, "you know what pretty bird? You're a pretty bird. You got pretty little seagull knees. If I were a seagull, I'd wanna look just like you. You're perfect. Probably the best looking seagull i've seen all day."

And I shit you not, the seagull comes right over to me, I mean, close enough I could reach out and ring its little seagull neck, and just plunks down in the sand next to my blanket. Just lays there and watches me reading my book. I watch her for a while, and I say, "You're a pretty cool little bird. Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you, or take advantage of you, or whatever it is that OTHER people do to seagulls when i'm not around, so you just rest easy. We can both just lie here and watch the fog roll in, and it'll be a nice little afternoon." The bird seems okay with this and takes a little siesta.

And so do I.
No pictures. No chatter. Just Me, The Bird, The Fog, and The Bay.
Good Times.

After a while, I decide I should start thinking about hiking back, in case it gets all dark and there I am tripping through poison oak or something trying to find my way back to the car. I pick up my camera, and the she-bird gets up and takes a few steps, you know, precautionary style, away from me. And I say, "Hey bird. Don't worry man. We've had a nice afternoon. I ain't gonna hurt ya. Let me just take a picture so folks will know I wasn't full of crap, how pretty you are."

And okay. I don't think she understood, but I took a picture anyway. So you'll see some picks of a so-so bird, and then you'll see one frame at the end, with the pretty one I've been telling you about.

And you'll of course see the pix of every chapter that came up to remind me, so you can be reminded too, about how the world works in ways that are just meant to "help" you. To keep things fresh. To mix it up and give you what you really need when you're looking for some answers.

And that's all i've really got for you today. It's a fist full of pictures of my two days off. I didn't go to Indian Springs, though maybe I was supposed to. But I did go to Indian Beach, which if you think about it, is kind of the same thing. Just a little more private. And either way, Indian Springs, Indian Beach, it's semantics. I was right where the world meant me to be.

Oh plus I found this very mysterious hand made wooden box, hidden way up in a tree overhanging the water, which I won't go into. But I discovered it. I tried to comprehend it. And then I put it right back up in that tree.

Good Times,

dTown, listening to Lyrics Born. 52˚, clear as night, and I'm finally finished that book.