California Dreaming

The sun beat down upon me in a gentle, yet intense, light. The sky was a blue azure of the purest and deepest richness; the sea, the sky's slightly younger sibling, mimiced the brilliant blue. The air swirled in sweet breezes around me. The scents of jasmine, salt water, and grass layed out a perfectly exotic palette for my sense. The sea crashed upon the red sienna cliffs and roared softly, lulling me into a semiconscious state. Ocassionally, the breakers would errupt from the meeting of land and ocean spraying fine mists of salt water into the air; momentary rainbows accompanied the sea's baptism upon my brow and then dried as quickly as they landed. I leaned against the rail overlooking the cove, staring at the endless beauty of the world.
Above me, a seagull cried out in a mournful tone as he hovered in the breeze.
The breeze did for the seagull what it was doing for me. The seagull was being carried by the breeze, by the nonstop zephyr that came from the West and flew towards the East. All the seagull had to to was keep its wings spread and the breeze did the rest. The sea air kept the bird in suspended animation in the California sun over the waves, cliffs that gave way to grass, and me. Like kites, the seagull and I were both caught in this West Coast breeze that pushed us East. The seagull seemed better than me at navigating the easterly force. My melismatic enjoyment of this Western world was momentarily embittered as I realized that it was not mine. I was from a land where attitude and boisterousness were the colors of nature. Funny how autumn in the East is so novel. People flock to see the fleeting colors of Fall. The trees turn ambers, red, and golds. Fools the Easterners are. There are colors all year round. They just can not compete with the boisterous personalities and large attitudes that steal attention away from them. Maybe that is why the cities in the East are so gray. I turned to face the coast I originated from... the East Coast.
Before me, was LaJolla. I saw no reminent of the East, only the park with its swaying palm trees and Myrtle trees, a symphony of exotic colors that the flowers expressed year round, and the occasional gazeebo that offered lovers a romantic place to make memories. On the otherside of the park, was the quaint town of LaJolla itself. The town was dressed in white lights and offered coffee houses, bistros, and wonderful little nooks to steal away from the California sun and have a drink or two. Terra cota roofs, adobe-like stucco, and lush landscaping finished the vision of perfection. I stared at the scene before me for a while. I contemplated the nature of perfection until the white stucco of one particular building aged to a handsome gold. Perfection had arrived. I turned back to the sea.
Sea mist kissed my face and welcomed me to the vista of another Southern California sunset. The sky was painted unimaginable variations of the spectrum in perfect shades. The water darkened to deep sapphire and reflected the sky's colors in a multitude of shimmering jewels. The seagull, still hovering above me had moved more high in the sky and cried out. It was expressing my own setiments. Heaven! Slowly, people silently accumulated along the rails in enclaves that peppered the border to the sea. Some held hands and cuddled, others stood in awe, and I breathed in deeply hoping each breath would bring the beauty around me into myself forever. My heart knew this place was home, which confounded my logic. I wanted to incinerate the memory of an East Coast and dwell forever, live forever, in the colors of the sunset. The sun sank beneathe the line where the sea and sky met. A surreal quality infused the air, but it was cast upon me from lights of white and manmade energy.
I turned from the sea and walked back to the car I rented. It was Halloween. I knew that one day I would return and call this place home. I met my friends, Fran and Emily, at the van I ended up getting in lieu to a compact car from the rental company. Silently, we filed in and drove away. We drove east. One word muttered, as if squirming its way out of my soul and through my teeth, "One day..."