I lingered on my deck to watch the sunset, now far to the north, as seven fat wild turkeys ducked under the horse fence and crossed the swale to feed in the last of the season’s wet grass. They seemed to say, “Stay, there is yet more here to witness.”
I reflected on the afternoon spent with friends hiking to Tomales Point. No wind, very little fog, a perfect day to sit at the edge of the world and to delight in the panorama: the swirling kelp in churning sea pockets of purple to teal, the flights of cormorants rounding the Point to their rest on the rocks.
As I write this, the horses come up to visit me, one last snort, a few nibbles, and a goodbye until I return next week. And when the sun lit up the striated cloud like a silver ribbon and the last turkey slipped beneath the fence, I said to myself, now I, too, must go.
