A writer captures images with words instead of a camera. I often leave mine at home (to force me to use my other senses,) and drive to a remote spot to record what I encounter. On this night I was on Cuesta Ridge. This is only 100 words of the 2500 I captured that night.
View from Cuesta Ridge
In the hour before sunset the fog slips past Morro Rock and tumbles into the Chorro Valley, filling crevices, obliterating everything as far as the eye can see.
Soon the morros, Cerro San Luis, Bishop Peak, Chumash Peak and Cerro Romualdo, disappear like shark fins penetrating the thick, dense soup.
A battle wages between east and west. Behind the ridge a full moon rises above Black Mountain, pale and bland in the waning light. To the west the sun spreads flames of red-orange along the horizon. In minutes only fading embers illuminate the blue-veined fog. Finally darkness falls. The eastern sky takes possession of the night with a luminous harvest moon.
Contributed by: Anne Schroeder
