Today I have been to Santa Cruz.
What a wonderful place, but then California seems to have a lot of wonderful places. More than its fair share one might say (particularly if one doesn't live in the state and is suffering recurring bouts of envy).
Otters were playing, just close to the shore - barrel rolling and turning somersaults in the water, sticking their paws up and generally looking as happy as could be.
A sea lion was watching all the goings on from his throne, a prominent rock poking up through the sea. Seals were lying on the beams under the pier and barking at each other. There were humans too, sitting astride surf boards waiting to catch the next, green glimmering roller. There was a back drop of mountains and yachts -white sails billowing in the wind - criss crossing in front.
The walk to the beach was bordered with exotic flowering succulents, which cascaded down the rocks towards the sand. Large yellow and pink blooms growing like you might expect dandelions to in Britain, casually just appearing, like it was no bother at all.
The sand was golden, fine grained and warm underfoot. It was very obliging sand, moving spontaneously as you laid upon it to make you as comfortable as possible.
Kind sand.
With eyes closed, you were left with just the sound of the ocean breathing.
What a wonderful place, but then California seems to have a lot of wonderful places. More than its fair share one might say (particularly if one doesn't live in the state and is suffering recurring bouts of envy).
Otters were playing, just close to the shore - barrel rolling and turning somersaults in the water, sticking their paws up and generally looking as happy as could be.
A sea lion was watching all the goings on from his throne, a prominent rock poking up through the sea. Seals were lying on the beams under the pier and barking at each other. There were humans too, sitting astride surf boards waiting to catch the next, green glimmering roller. There was a back drop of mountains and yachts -white sails billowing in the wind - criss crossing in front.
The walk to the beach was bordered with exotic flowering succulents, which cascaded down the rocks towards the sand. Large yellow and pink blooms growing like you might expect dandelions to in Britain, casually just appearing, like it was no bother at all.
The sand was golden, fine grained and warm underfoot. It was very obliging sand, moving spontaneously as you laid upon it to make you as comfortable as possible.
Kind sand.
With eyes closed, you were left with just the sound of the ocean breathing.
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