The world becomes a waiting bowl. Late afternoon, oleanders and eucalyptus turn silver. Crows perch on miles and miles of telephone wire, quiet, medieval statuary welcoming in the dusk. The gray sprawls of San Diego, Los Angeles, Bakersfield, Fresno all vanish, leaving space brown and blue and green. The world falls back.
Time reverses itself.
Waves test a new shore, memorizing shape. Mountains revel in their height, and the Valley, cushioned between the nameless ranges, looks like nothing more than the inland sea it once was, fossil-shaped and waiting for discovery. The background on this page is a tiled .gif image made from a photo of wheat growing in the Central Valley of California All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for copyright information.