A Poem

Big Sur

I drive along the freeway,
cars like inch worms creep.
I visualize a moment
far removed from traffic jams.

High above the scene,
we picniced on cheese and wine.
The wind swept up the cliff
and kissed my face with droplets
from the great Pacific which crashed
on rocks one hundred feet below.

Wind tossed our words up to the gulls
who shrieked them back at us.
The day was dazzling in its brilliance.
Our love, not young, refreshed, renewed.
We dreamed, made promises.
That perfect day - a perfect place,
away from all the world.
--- Glenda Council Beall