From the top of the street, looking down on the rest of Los Gatos
, one could see the fog
creeping low over downtown.
It watched us take a vague, silent leave--the gesture strikingly similar in texture and memory
to what I was leaving behind the low bridge--smooth, crisp fog--lush, minty pine
--all bound and intertwined within itself.
Leaving, I witnessed the senses, sounds and smells exhume and drift behind the foothills as I drove to the right of (never quite losing sight of) the sun--leaving terse and tart
details behind in the mist (which was starting to fade with the rising sun
The concrete (bright and bold
) present gives way to the abstract (dusky and delicate
) past as I drive once again towards those soft, gently-swaying hills.--Spring Break freshman year