The past has all blown east.
The Monterey cypress felt it leave
in the teeth of a Pacific sea squall.
Somedays I am that cypress.
Wind buffeted, whale boned,
sway backed. I was thrust
off-center in my cambium
and over time my heartwood
And like the cypress I cantilever
east in search of lost days.
In my heart I’m always reaching
for something blown away.
Because the past is familiar
landscape, softened by the
fog of memory.
Somewhere in the past is the sum
of what I’ve already weathered.
Somewhere east is a time
when I already survived
If I could find it, I’d exhume the past
and lie beside it in the rain.
Monterey cypress, Hesperocyparis macrocarpa.
Many are found on the rugged Central California
Coast in the Big Sur and Point Lobos areas.
They are iconic survivors of harsh sea weather and
winds from the west.