Cindy Bradley
Monterey Peninsula
Inspired by the poetry of Kimiko Hahn Carmel, Early Summer (1980) 2 So much promise. As I walk along the beach, gently kicking up the white sand with my browned feet, my eyes lingering on the blue-green water, I imagine the possibility of new life stirring within me. I’m an emotional whirlwind. 3 The cypress trees dot the top of the hill above. Eucalyptus is all around, lending the salty air a honeyed tone. The lilting breeze caresses, cajoles. So why the sense of doom? 1 We’re here to celebrate the first year of our marriage. We’re here, in this house in Carmel, with my family, at the spot where the sand at the top of the hill at the bottom of Ocean Ave begins its decline to the shore. A peninsula is a piece of land that extends out from a larger land mass and is surrounded by water on three sides. This encompassing water is commonly understood to belong to a single contiguous body of water, but is not always elucidated as such. The origin stems from 16th century Latin, paene “almost” and insula “island”—almost, but not quite, an island. I walk along the peninsula’s edge, crushed lemon-scented cypress needles beneath my feet, and it’s the almost that reverberates in my mind. 5 We’re here to celebrate our anniversary, but there will be no celebration. We drive up and down the peninsula, listening to my favorite Benny Margolis’ “Into the Night” or his favorite Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind” on the radio. We drive and drive, looking for the perfect spot for dinner. I want something different, something cozy. He finds something wrong with the fish house and Italian restaurant I point out. Finally, hungry and tired, he pulls into the McDonalds drive thru and maybe it’s here that I first begin
45th Parallel
85