When my grandchildren’s children

Return from an enchanting Big Sur excursion

Freshly imbibed by its stupendous natural beauty

Comstock's simple epiphany;

Quietly siting his harmonious homes, as if planted before the forest matured around them

The enigmatic boughs of cryptic Cypress crawling and drooping the roof line

Organic are its elements…. a modern day Tor house…. stone, fire, wood and water

The antidote for sheets of steel and glass and the cold concrete mass of Meunning’s Big Sur bungalows

Today, there are no unwieldy Pelicans standing idled;

One legged, Yoga like, on the sea-worn pier post before me

The big brown birds have taken to the vibrant sky to feed and fly

Single-file they trace a languid wavering line over the sixth hole at Pebble

A silhouette of Mother Earth’s deepest green against a cadmium clear aquamarine