I set out on a journey. My only intention was be with myself in a kind way to honor a loss.
I sat in the living room of a coastside B&B and sipped a glass of wine as I enjoyed the company of the innkeepers.
I drew a bath and soaked.
I slept well and rose gently.
I rocked for awhile in a rocker at the end of the hall.
I listened to the quiet of having the inn to myself.
I ate a fine breakfast and bid my hostess goodbye.
Rambling through the backroads along the coast, I passed fields of strawberries clustered with workers squatting to harvest the fruit.
Alyssa A, Marina High School, 11th Grade, Acrylic
I stopped in an antique shop and fingered through old books. One book was a discarded baby book of a mother's son born in the 20s who died in the 50s. The book included a thick lock of his blonde curl and told the story of his first outing to a Sunday luncheon at his aunt's.
Bundled in my woolies, I pulled to the side of the road to watch the surf of the ocean under a swath of fog.
There was nothing I needed to see and nowhere I needed to be.
So I wandered.
Along the way I discovered a landmark from the Mexican period of California's history: Monterey's La Miranda adobe.
And then the time came to return home.
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