Mendocino

I could lose myself in great bursts of work

here, cutting wood, planting a garden, painting

what I see, or I could get lazy

on our marine terrace. First and last. I want to last.

We stand on ground mapped since 1587, a long time

for this our country and what did Lorenzo do

here? Or for that matter, Antonio? Colony and cove comfort.

Fog every morning obscuring coastline. You

need a warm sweater and you come out of it by noon.

Victorian rows along unpainted lanes,

we walk searching for everything and nothing in

particular. Agate, Blair, Caspar, Lansing, etc. 

Off One, with groceries in trunk, enough

to last till next trek ten miles south to

ex-fortress. Put frozen stuff away

first. Sun only halfway down. Still time

to catch its effect and handcraft it to

something reusable like leftovers, 

bouillabaisse perhaps.