Secrets from Our American Dreams

Where the heart meets the sea.

When first I came to California, I restlessly sought the coasts and the mountains with camera in tow. My wife and I would throw ourselves onto the fog-soaked brim of the Pacific or onto the granite hearth of the crown of California, and with hearts in our throats, look at one another and wonder what we had done to deserve such a graceful home.

As we've grown accustomed to California, our disbelief may have faded but our gratitude has not. Every now and again we are acutely reminded of what a magical three years this has been, of what an Eden this place is when the sun smiles upon you.

When I find a glimmer of daylight between other obligations, I find myself once again upon the strands and valleys of the Golden State with camera in hand. Back at home, I sit in front of my computer and open these windows into the wilder spots of California and can't help but be swept away.

The kiss of brine upon the rock and the ghostly cargo mammoths skating out to sea; an icy cold ocean gale blows back my hair and forces the hooking seabirds to shore. In the distance, the doleful fog horn of the Golden Gate and the watchlights of cars upon the fog-wreathed and wind-driven temple of Marin.

Part of me will never leave.

Secrets from our American Dreams