If you want to see something beautiful, drive through Sonoma County.
Find your favorite song. Press play. Turn it up. Drive.
Drive up into the riches of the rolling hills. Take note of the light that casts its shadow onto the mountain as the world begins to darken.
Observe as each ray transitions from hints of lemon to a red dawn, staining your cheeks with the color of peaches.
Study every vine you see, rooted into the soil, having withstood the many blood moons of that fateful October.
Search deeply into the horizon where our sky hugs the mustard seed fields. The sun has found its way home within the crevices of the countryside, as have the birds, nestled in the necks of the blue oak trees.
Maybe a piece of you will find home too, planted into the ground that will one day give shade to another, twisting into branches that tangle together and apart, again and again.
A tribute to an area that has given me fond memories.
Driving home . The sun sets into heaps of cotton candy over the hills and sprinkles the sky with frosted sugar, illuminating your face and hands on the wheel.
First date. Two teenagers sitting in the car, stealing glances and hiding their innocent smiles under tightly pursed lips with the hanging question of who will kiss who first, only to result in the soft intertwining of fingers.
One looks down and focuses on their frayed jeans, smiling ear to ear. The other looks over, feeling warmth spread from their chest to their cheeks.
February 14th. Neon lights dim for the girl with strawberry lip gloss and shaky hands. She gazes at the crowd over the sea of couples and fixates her eyes on a single rose. A petal softly floats down onto a table. The piano begins, her voice following.