Wrote another 1,000 plus words of Silent Vector this weekend while on vacation in Monterey, including one chapter from the balcony of our hotel room with a view of Monterey Bay. The main Soviet conspirator gets a visit from his strategic muse with a little help from a shot of vodka. Monterey was, as always, phenomenal. The old haunts still have the strongest of holds on us. We spent part of Saturday with friends out at Asilomar, one of California's many stunning beaches. Here's a poem I wrote a number of years ago about the area, its feel, and its past. ASILOMAR
Go to the tidal pools. Go when the weather's foul. Go alone to see life left after the deluge.
Look in the shallow pools. Look to the sea's power. Look for eternity in delicate bounty.
Pass the clapboard houses. Pass dew-laden cypress. Pass fishing ghosts waiting, mending dormant nets.
Hear the night bay rhythm. Hear the water's old voice. Hear an easy rejoice coaxed by afternoon light.
Smell the fresh salted air. Smell the slow burning oaks. Smell the sweet fog finding its self-charted courses.
You can feel the passed dream. You can taste the lament. You can still catch glimpses of Steinbeck's Monterey.