Bridge Over Troubled Waters

I live at the very edge of California, atop high cliffs with an expansive azure sea below. There used to be many more houses here, and long ago, even a luxury resort. On more than one occasion throughout history, mother ocean claimed many through landslides. I think eventually, the remaining structures, placed high on the coastline, will also fall into the great blue oblivion.

I visit a cliffside park here frequently. I have gone there in times of celebration, sadness, joy chasing, artistic expression, and most recently, to fall in love. I stand on the green grass that blankets the hill, and feel the ever present breeze whip my hair around. The salty air kisses my skin and I taste it on my lips.

The sunsets there are unmatched. It is almost impossible to not find the profundity in watching this fiery orange radiance dip below the horizon. It seems as though the sun takes all of her warmth with her as she bids us adieu until a new day begins.

I have spent a considerable amount of time on that hillside, sometimes in complete silence, just watching. As a water sign, it feels like home. This whole little city by the sea feels like home.

There are not one, but two bridges connecting us to the next major city. I have delighted in crossing these bridges since I was a small child. My father used to take us for long drives as a form of entertainment, and the Vincent Thomas bridge was my favorite. However, the bridge terrified my brother, and still does, to this day.

I have to cross the bridges at least twice a week, and the immensity of the patinaed arch still commands my attention every time I cross it. I make every attempt to stay present as I drive over it as a form of appreciation and gratitude. Thank you, mighty green bridge, for providing a road home, over the harbor.

And while I mean every word of this literally, it is also a metaphor. An ode to my beau. The man who has shown me stability, safety, a deep, abiding love that inspires me to be the best and most authentic version of myself.

Crossing the bridge feels a lot like his embrace, a calming sense of coming home.