Walking Rancho Hermosa

Dawn in the San Luis Rey Valley

and Memories of the Getty

Ten years ago when we first moved back to Oceanside, the finding of Rancho Hermosa was like coming home again. They say you can't go home again, but I disagree. We first moved to Oceanside in 1991. I became very involved in the Arts Community and at last I found home.

Now, in the year 2020 I walked at Dawn. I used to run up and down the hills of Oceanside at dawn, but now, walking is just right for the calmness that comes with a slower pace. This morning the hills and faraway mountains were like a pastel painting. The shading of pale lavenders in the background, the hills in front of the mountain shading to purple and then to dark blue. It was like walking into an impressionist painting.

Last summer I was fortunate to visit the Getty Museum with my daughter Laura. The very best part was the room with the impressionist paintings by Van Gogh and Monet. The Haystack of Monet captured my heart. The blending of his color pallet is without peer. Lucky me, there was a bench which I could spend time to gaze upon this masterwork. Many folks were walking by the painting and just clicking their little phones not looking at the real painting.

At the Getty, Monet's Haystack

 I could see him in my minds eye, there, in his place of easy solitude doing his work. Timeless in his own world, we see him now in our world of the 21 century, of teeming human endeavors which leave little time for such contemplation. The colors imprinted in my minds eye, have given me joy and peace knowing that this beautiful piece of human art work is in a place where the great works of art are there for everyone to see. The Getty immortalizing this human being who created his work for the world to know and love.

Turning the corner from San Dimas onto San Miguel, the view of the valley, and the mountains beyond, made the sudden intake of breath like drinking fine wine. Magic It was, another mystical world apart from the madding course of covid-19, this world of silence with the changing colors rushing to the breaking Dawn. The Valley can't be put into a museum, but it is in the museum of our presence if we only look and pause to breathe...

The lavender silence now was broken with the neighborhood mocking bird. His little self perched atop a fence singing forth with his hearts desire to welcome this ethereal day. Now, the colors were changing so quickly for with the coming of the morning sun, the precious moments of pastel colors were fading fast. The little bird's song quickened with his young energy and I knew that it was time to go home again.

Turning the corner from San Dimas onto San Pablo, my shadow was there before me...the colors somewhat the same, but the shadow's elongation of my human form was a foretelling that this day would not last that long, the shadow knows, as I remember...the Haystack of long ago...