The morning started off with no coffee and a light drizzle of ocean spray and rain. The road, a cracked skin old person with many stories to tell if you just ride along at a good pace and listen. Farms with half deconstructed, salt washed fences, greet me every twenty kilometres or so. The beautiful flowers of yellow and deep purple grow naturally beside the flat highway that extends down the coast for hours and days. I don’t remember their smell, but I do remember how even in fog, they acted as the only obvious difference and border, between sea, sand and concrete. I also remember, that while at home, I never thought twice about stepping on living grass or dandelions, that I was cautious around this flora. I guess it was the unique drama they presented, the flamboyant contrast, the centre stage diva florified.

Flowers along the sea near Pescadero