Topanga State Park



These photos I have do not do justice. They were taken in Topanga State Park located on the hillsides of the pacific coast highway not too far from Santa Monica, CA.

It was a gloomy day where the sun hardly showed through the clouds but gave a subtle hue of grey, like a vintage photograph. The grass on the other hand was vibrant green, alive and loud. The trail was full of white blossomed trees, and cacti surrounding throughout due to the serious rainfall. There was honeysuckle and sage and rosemary growing wild. Because the earth has cried so much this Winter everything was more alive, happy. There was wildlife all around. We even saw deer and a group of them feeding without a worry in the world. The birds were chirping. The groundhogs were digging. Ah, and the smell. You could even taste the salt in the air, the humidity in your skin. There is nothing better than this.


Upon reaching the top, the waves look less intimidating. They looked so puny from my high altitude. The ocean looked like a flat plain, so still and undisturbed. The ocean, the same one I am terrified of. To me, it is like the mouth of a furious beast with teeth as crashing and thrashing waves. It once grabbed me, pulled me and twirled me around like a shell rolling in the sand. I swallowed water and thought for a second, this is the end and it could have been. But there I stood from above so still and peaceful staring at a large screen or mirror reflecting the movie of the sun. It was hilarious to have remembered the team of surfer’s we had seen lined up in the skirt of the sea as we drove up to the trail. “We are all so small,”I kept thinking. It is obvious, I know, but not quiet as obvious as then, standing there looking down at the never-ending blue canvas. You had to have been there. I couldn’t help but think of the story of Ahab and feeling but a fraction of what perhaps he and all the sailors might have felt.


To all the, sailors, marines, pirates, fishermen.  I commend you. That is quiet courageous  to face the sea, face to face.

We are all seashell rolling insignificantly

in the sand, each one of us with a hollow hole

you can grab and pick up and place next to your ear

and hear the voice of the sea. 

We are so small, and so important. Our voice so insignificant but heard. I may be one out of many, but I am one. So why not sing?

Until next, ladies and gents.

Yours truly,

blue bird



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