Endless rows - Almonds?
Flowing hills dotted with dusty brush.
A side of each carved sheer, facing the road.
Trees, shrubs, columns of green in fixated formation.
Prickly pear growing wild, begging for the same sustenance.
Studded asphalt snaking smooth squiggles.
Roadside farm stands implore the weary motorist.
To the sea or to the valley?
A corvette weaves past musty trucks bearing their weight.
Gas at $6.19, that's cheap.
They've even claimed the chaparral above,
For single family homes, more unnaturally green rows,
Supplanting the native vegetation,
- The landscape that once was -
Once existing in rhythm with ecological fluxes.
Now nearly vanished, disguised as somewhere else,
Anywhere but the semi-desert of southern California.
A momentary jaunt on the 101.
The pier stretches expansively as an outpost into the Pacific.
Arrival is imminent.
The vaunted Central Coast awaits.
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