42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

Smells trigger memories. Smells can be elusive. I can’t describe the smells, the smells of beauty, of clean air, of nature on the coast in the Big Sur region of California.  I wish I could, so I could paint a word picture for you. So you could come with me on the trip to the coast. So you could relax and forget whatever it is you might of something that looked like rosemary, how the smell wraps around you so you try to inhale more in, identify that smell. The one time I wish I knew more about plants. The smell of flowers. Of tall trees and their woodiness. Of the faint, indescribable odor of salt in the air.

Instead I just share my pictures, and know it’s still not enough. You can’t hear the gentle static, the crash of the waves against the rocky shore. You can’t feel the heat seep into your bones as the sun shines down. Not oppressively hot, but comfortably hot. Enough to bring up the slightly pleasant smell of sweat, the kind of sweat that doesn’t smell like someone’s gym bag, but the sweat that is salty and sweet and smells of outside and nature and activity and health.

Mist caresses the rocky shore along a stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway.

This overlook at Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park gives a tantalizing glimpse of what must be paradise in the cove below. It’s off-limits to park visitors, though a cheeky person scrawled “This is art” on the otherwise untouched beach, along with placing rocks to form a peace symbol. Somehow, I don’t think destroying a view is meant as peaceful.

Another look at the cove. The water is so green at the shallow end. And there’s a bonus waterfall. Between the warmth and the view and the clear blue sky, I could see this as being paradise. I appreciate that this view is protected, even if it means I couldn’t go down and be part of the paradise. Paradise is something to yearn for, not to be a part of.

More at flickr.