“The Park: Part 3”

“Horizontal layers of shelly rock reveal this place’s ancient existence at the bottom of a great sea. The square white bits of rock are set into the hillside quite evenly, like teeth into some great jaw. From the woody stems of the silver lupine bushes emerge exquisite earrings of lavender-hued flowers. The sun brings out the scent of the distant eucalyptus and the close-in bay trees. Suddenly you find yourself surrounded by an afghan of wild irises. Their leaves are like miniature works of art, like hand-painted silk designs, whose veins are plum and magenta. In a clearing, you notice the first sign of civilization, ten parallel power lines running like an overlaid grid down the full length of the mountainside. But, in their audacious height, length, and arrangement, even these signs of human hands are impressive. At one spot there is a picnic table parked at a forty-five-degree angle in the steep cliff. How did it come here? And then further down the trail, an old rusted truck sits wedged between two madrones. But there are no roads nearby from which it might have fallen. Just before leaving the trail, you stare transfixed at a bush spangled by the sunshine. Its leaves might be tiny, silvered craft swooping in from different angles and heights. There is so much magic here, here in Huckleberry Loop.”