Circular Meditations on the Chaos of the Pacific

Satisfied with our breakfast of toast at Trouble Coffee, we walked the short distance down Judah to

the ocean, where we took off our shoes and walked over the grassy dune and out onto the wide flat beach. The air was just on the edge of hot and cool, a perfect temperature under a mildly cloudy March sky. The forecast had said rain, but it looked now that the day would pass without showers.

A scattering of Sunday San Franciscans was out enjoying the fresh breeze. We blended in with them, strolling north at the very edge of where the waves reached.  The clouds refelected hazily in the sheen of the freshly dampened sand.

We walked all the way past the windmills at the western edge Golden Gate Park until we got the end of the beach near Seal Rocks and the Cliff House. There we spread our jackets on the ground and lay on the sand as the minutes and then hours of the afternoon passed by.

The reward for our walk was a splendid seaside nap, adjusting to the time change of daylight saving the night before, occasionally waking to sit up and watch folks passing by, as well as the few brave surfers out in the foam.

Red noticed the riptides making their way sideways across the beach. We traced the rogue waveforms and they moved unmolested through the main surf vectors.

For all the prep I'd done for the weekend, I'd left this time as agenda-less. Freestyle travel, I call it.

Of course from our position we were within sight of the epicenter of the Great Earthquake, making our spontaneous walk fit perfectly within our theme.

When you're in the groove of travel, things just happen this way it seems.

And the world is like an apple, spinning silently in space.

But that's an entirely different McQueen movie.