Land of Giants


Land of Giants

On the second morning in the redwoods of northern California, the sun came on strong, gladly announcing its morning greeting with soft beams, hardly weary from their long travels, that traced their lines until their eventual end on the forest floor.

 

 

 

My roommate texted me, unsure of my whereabouts.
Todd: "Are you alive?!"
Chris: "Todd, I am as alive as a man can be—
my skin cold with the living breath of the ancient redwoods."

 

 

A friend's tip led me to Gold Bluffs Beach and Fern Canyon. When I arrived on the beach, a bizarre branch was stuck in the ground—the only vertical object on the taut, horizontal, sand-line. It was like a sculpture. I don't know if it happened naturally, or if someone placed it there like that.

 

 

Time to head home. But I'll take the 101, making a quick stop at Pistol River and arriving at Bandon beach just in time for sunset. Oregon sure makes for lovely travel.