I fought a sudden rainstorm to get to a stopping point and roll down my window. Still, I did not move with sufficient speed to snap a decent photo of the rainbow over the Pacific. I had kept my eye on it, stunned. I could see both ends, sharp against the grey sky over the stormy expanse of sea. But the rain dissipated the dazzling color. I did as well as I could, content with a pale glimmer of the vivid arch that I will never forget.

My engine hummed as I sat, awe-struck, delighted. Eventually, I put the car in drive and continued south. Pigeon Point stood tall against that same drab expanse. On my first trip to California, a friend had admonished me not to miss the sight of her. I still cannot travel westward without straining to rearrange my schedule for a fresh glimpse.

She rises from a field of ice plants, small buildings crouched at her majestic base. I study the grand height, noting the guy wires that signal rehabilitation underway. How many ships have found the harbor with the steady flash of her light? I take some comfort from her constant presence.

After a brief detour for coffee and a gluten-free muffin, I headed inland with a profound sense of deep ambivalence. My mood darkened as I drew further east, as the ocean’s heady fragrance faded from the air around me. Grim news blared from the sound system, podcast after podcast that I had ignored all weekend. The nation’s prospects had not improved since I left home on Friday. Perhaps I should have hunkered down at Montara.

As I trudged from car to house, something different about the display of plants around my porch steps caught my eye. A new rock admonished me: Be Kind! I studied the writing, wondering who had stopped to leave this message. Had they singled me out? Did the entire park receive this guidance? And why face it towards my returning gaze, instead of hitting me with the firm suggestion as I left home of a morning? Did the speaker want me to treat myself with care? Was the rock intended as a condemnation or an entreaty?

I went inside, none the wiser. I left the rock where its creator had chosen to place it. Being kind has always been my goal, even though reasonable minds could differ on the method to my madness. I suppose I might have wronged someone. I send a silent prayer to the universe, that it might always help me strike a balance between my moral underpinnings and the social niceties that others expect me to observe.

Sitting in the perfect chair that my friend Tim Anderson gave me, fatigue washes across my aching body. I walked too far on Saturday, consigning me to rest that evening and into Sunday. I need to lose ten or twenty pounds; I must get back to regular yoga and deep breathing. Be kind, indeed. And lest we not forget, charity begins at home. Perhaps the rest will follow as night flows from the dying day.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®