Wilson Hill Road (photos)

 Wilson Hill Road, West Marin, facing north.

An abandoned loveseat dumped by the side of the road. Artist's light. You know I had to stop. There were pineapples carved on the oak headboard—a sign of welcome and hospitality. And the oak is a door to the Otherworld. I loved the incongruous red No Trespassing sign swinging from the fence. So, I sat there the entire afternoon just because I could, and got a fierce sunburn for my troubles. The April sun on Irish skin definitely takes prisoners. Hardly any traffic for a Sunday afternoon. Odd. Most people who passed by were preoccupied and didn't notice me sitting there drawing. Who was Wilson? Was this his hill? A lone cyclist rang his tinny bell and yelled Hi. That was it. I was so tired from the dread virus, I thought I'd never make it back to Sonoma County. That's the border on the horizon. Earlier, I had trolled Nicasio Reservoir for wildflowers because my caretaking job was cancelled. I spent my energy chasing flower photos, so I was grateful for the somewhat self-enforced respite. Sadly, my camera's failing. It can no longer focus despite the Leica lens. My eye is wounded. But I was also procrastinating. I needed one more pastel for the upcoming art show. As usual, the dreadline rendered me helpless. See, I was feeling sorry for myself, for a love gone so wrong, there's no mending it. I was punishing myself again, debating whether or not to stop to sniff the wildflowers, or flee the scene. And then I found a red stop sign embedded in the grass. What would you do? Synchronicity in action. That's what was needed. Follow random instructions from the world.

DRAFT: An abandoned couch on Wilson Hill Road. You know I had to stop. There were pineapples carved on the headboard. A sign of welcome.I loved the incongruous red No Trespassing sign. So, I stayed the entire afternoon just because I could. And got a sunburn for my troubles.