You take the low road, and I'll be the highway...

At neither head nor toe do I definitively end. It’s almost as though I blur to the suggestibility of continuation. Open ended and empty-minded, I dangle with the unfinished bits of meat like a fishing pole, not fully wound, seaweed-strewn sinker and worm-stained hook wrapped around the last rung.

I am not enclosed by windy political borders, but I do meander along rivers’ bank lines. I am as calm as I am clamorous. I have been known to, and often do, merge with those, who at some distance may seem to serve a very different purpose. Once adjoined, however, we carve a path that honorably averages our interests. I’m easy to go along with…

At times, I can be slow and sauntering, splitting for a little perspective, sprinkled with colorful viewpoints and points of view. A minute later, I may succumb to the flow of traffic. I’ve even been know to speed.

The heights and sights of hawks are mine, perched on cypress cliff tops, softly foaming seas of life seen below. But I can bubble with the magnified resolution only a rodent sees.

Many have died paving my way; I do not forget what I am made of. So I change, constantly, almost with random fervor, glazing the memory of them in my rubble.

I am a lot of things all at once, but that’s just me…

Yours,
The Pacific Coast Highway