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.