Peters Gate, Monterey, California


It rained all day yesterday, glorious, coveted, wet dripping rain. The air felt fresh and alive as I stepped out for my morning walk. My usually cheerful neighbor had a look of resolve on her face as she loaded their car, “We’re going out of town for the weekend, the memorial for a friend. Such is life, death is a part of life,” she said. As I continued, her words hung in my head. Autumn leaves, backlit by the sun, filled the trees with color, and drops of wet dangled from their branches, sparkling like Christmas lights. Yes, I thought, all we really have is this moment.

My walk led me through the hills. Frost glittered like snow on rooftops, and hummingbirds worked the new orange blossoms. A deliveryman unloading a dishwasher said good morning as if he meant it. Vapor drifted through the sun in curls like smoke. “Such is life,” and the morning walk took on a psychedelic feel; plants and trees were bright with vivacity, and everything seemed too real. As I arrived home, I felt transported, as if something miraculous had happened.