Carla McGill Driving Across the Valley
Freeways curve and lift like air currents, move through the inland valley without doubt or dilemma. To the north is the great mountain resolute in dimension. Beyond concrete assurances, the ocean extends out in blue sufficiency. Nevertheless, traffic jams intentions and changing lights confuse philosophies. Beginnings are endings; extremes are in the middle.
The whole valley is dying and living in the view from the hills where the stones are spread out by the water. Crows call out from that place of resignation and brightness. We gasp for air in the wide open sky. We follow the maps but can’t find our way.
Yet in the pauses,