In Contemplating the Future

The hills are green velvet this afternoon. They resemble a down comforter pulled over the knees of some sleeping, majestic, giant. There’s only one paved road. It runs along the giant’s leg, until it’s lost in some unknown valley. The wind is strong, but somehow comforting. Comforting in the way it holds the wings of hawks afloat for hours. Comforting in the way the ocean breeze hits you: sound rushing in your ears, until you can’t hear anything except a voice telling you everything is going to be okay. The world will be put to rights someday. The Santa Ynez river snakes its way through the valley. The trees on its banks are yellow, if they survived the bitter frost of winter, or bare if they did not. They don’t complain; rather they join in the wind’s voice, adding layer upon layer to it. There are cows here. They hear the wind too and respond in their own simple way. A car horn is heard off in the distance, a reminder that society hasn’t gone away; it’s just not here at the moment.

The wind is stronger now: stronger than it has been all day. And here I am. With my laptop computer. Drinking Italian sparkling mineral water from a glass bottle. Sitting in a lounge chair. I want to blend in. I want to melt away into the velvet green of the hills across the valley. They’re almost completely in shadow now. The sun is about to sink behind them, ushering in the night. The utter darkness that will shroud this humble valley, making it impossible to see the green of the hills. Maybe someday I will return here, when I’m older and more experienced, and say to myself, I always did like the green of those hills. Like velvet. It is good. And it is.