Sunday, April 19, 2015

Bits and Pieces

Today’s adventure was really about some cute scenes not so much the trip to inspect yet another park.  The photos speak for themselves almost.  We drove up to Santa Margarita Lake and back.  I remembered this trip from the latter portion of it through meadows with huge oak trees.  Some of the trees are struggling with the drought, but overall there are mile after mile of them sharing the meadows with cattle, horseback riders and us whizzing by in our cars.   It was a beautiful day with clear skies and sun.  Away from the water, we did not even require a light jacket. 

We passed through a small town on the way just before the KOA that was our destination.  I saw a dream house I could live in with a wonderful front porch that shared a bit of the owner’s dreams.  On either side of three colorful pots of flowers sitting on a table there were placed in perfect spacing tiny statuettes of a lighthouse, a truck and a train.  Not chaotic-as a child would leave them in play, but decorative.  Behind this display were two white rockers.  Who lives there?  Do they come out onto the porch on a hot afternoon or early in the cool evening air to watch the world go by?  Separated from the busy world of the street before them across a white picket fence, do they know the serene world they project of a time and place long since lost to most of us?  I don’t know.  But I envision myself on that porch and I can taste a cool glass of lemonade in my hand as I watch the world pass by…
There was a poke to the price of gas these days creeping up to greet all of those hitting the road for a longed for vacation behind the wheel and it brought a smile to our lips.  How funny, how universal the thought.
 There were silver skeletons of trees that have given up in the struggle against the drought.  They seemed like characters from a Harry Potter story waiting to come alive in the dusk.  I can imagine them dancing around together before me in the moonlight with eerie music filtering in from the dark fields beyond them.

Maybe this is where some of the stories and their characters are born in the imagination of those of us who feel compelled to write. 
 

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