The first in what I intend to be a series on the coastline from Marshall Beach to Santa Cruz.
A million heartbeats upon the hills to the east and not a soul but mine upon this cold, blue stretch of strand to watch the scruffy headlands and the Golden Gate turned vermillion by the January sun.
The tide was out but the surf was up and I found myself dodging the breakers from atop a rock, trying to drag the shutter and capture a few images of the Pacific's mouth, foaming and lapping at the far western edge of San Francisco.
Once upon a time, a friend and I photographed Baker Beach, looking to find some balance between background and foreground. Here I looked for the same and found it in a jawline of granite piercing the sand, two peaks to match the bridge's pylons.
Though I passed north and south along the shoals to find another foothold, I returned again and again to this composition, waiting for the light and the waves to change and enjoying every minute of it.
Sometime this year, I will be leaving California and I will dearly miss these terrigneous shoals and strands and endless stretches of rocky, impenetrable coastline.
I will miss the singing of the sea upon California's stony, stalwart limbs. I will miss the static and the staccato of the breakers upon the sand, drums from the deep called inexorably to the headlands; drums that will beat forever in my heart, calling me inexorably back to the land I have for too short a time called my home.