Trip Home

The drive home was an experience of feasting my eyes on winter. The rivers were all full and muddy. In some places very close to cresting their banks. There are hours of trees. Green ones, grey moss covered ones, grey moss covered ones with grey moss hanging from every branch blowing in the wind. Brown moss covered ones with grey moss hang from their branches. There where small groves and then three or four in among the evergreens, stark against the green back ground.

The best part of the road is Richardson’s grove. The huge redwoods are on the edge of the road. I always have a feeling of sacredness as I drive the road that curves through the trees. I always sense a deep hush and sense of majesty.  

There was snow on the mountains and in one place on the roadside. There was intermittent heavy rain for a little over three hours. In places the clouds were so close and wispy it was hard to tell if they were clouds or smoke coming from the mountains. After Cloverdale the rain stopped and I enter into spring. Springs evidence showing forth in the budding trees and more daffodils than before.

At one point there was a field of yellow wild mustard, and then farther south there were long wide strips of white flowers.

Being aware of the beauty all around me made the trip back easier.

Blessings and good night.