"The ocean's just around the next bend. I can smell it." We were driving north on Highway 1, just past San Luis Obispo, climbing through foothills that were parched brown from drought. The last time I'd been on this legendary road, I was in my twenties, just out of college. Memories pushed my anticipation of that first glimpse of ocean to the point of explosion. I strained against my seat belt to peer around Ben, as he navigated the winding ribbon of highway. One more curve and the landscape opened like parting curtains. On with the show! The Pacific was a grey-green shimmer of glass under the afternoon sun. "It's so beautiful!" Take another curve and white caps crashed against cliffs. "Oh my gosh." Another curve revealed a lighthouse perched on a spit in a fantasy tableau. "Wow." A whale lolled and dove like a ballerina solo. "Wow." Hour after hour, the scenery unfolded, too beautiful for photos, too beautiful for words. I yawned. I sank into my seat and stared at the glove box. The hills closed around us again, dry and boring. Miles of monochromatic tan and beige. Without warning the beach reappeared. Seals dotted sun-bleached white rocks. Waves crashed. Pelicans dived. "Look at that!"
Good thing God stuck some ugly in there so I'd appreciate the beautiful.
Good thing God stuck some ugly in there so I'd appreciate the beautiful.