Posted on July 14, 2009 - by Rasham

ZEPHYR

On a train going nowhere, I couldn’t have written it any other way…

A unique perspective demonstrating the beauty of uninhabited plots of familiar land, slow moving, which is a replica of pre-modern times, ravaged factories and abandoned settlements now painted with the colors of graffiti, the train moving in the direction of the wind across the water, sun sailing on the surface as eagles swim in the sky, past Benicia, state capitol once upon a time in the forgotten history of California, golden arches of grand allure in the backdrop of hillsides.

I am enamored with the sights of the bay from beyond the window of a breeze. Battleships with baffling capabilities sleeping side by side, shades of green light meadows with prickly plants which engulf pale gray ponds where cows sip beads of water and stand still as if studded in the canvas of the prairie land picture. Horses prance as if to dance to the rumbling of the passerby, folds in the earth are filled with furry foliage of forest fauna, I cannot resist the temptation to witness rays of soil ascending in perfectly planted rows in the valley of farming where fruits survive till September harvest. A kaleidoscope of agricultural artistry illustrated before the ever-changing window of the moving model. Spanish styled architecture of sun-burnt flavors and sun tanned skin toned walkways paved through pristine channels of a quiet settlement. A bunch of bike riders in bright yellows pedaling parallel to yellow speckled highways, and the high ways of captains containing crops in winged crafts. Suburban boxes painted in pastels and markets of outrageous artifacts, Wild West history on the faces of historic housing, the era of enchanting colonialism coloring the aura of this chapter in the trip.

Up and further still, cascading elevation of thousands of lengths where miners once had a multitude of money-making moments now faded in the momentary blackouts afforded by the barriers of concave funnels protecting the traveler from the treachery of snow and sleet. Skylar’s Colfax is crested in sands of fire and stone, a 6am cocktail isn’t such a bad treat, brick walls and balconies and daisies in the cracks of cemented sidewalks.
Pumpkin coated slopes and baby undergrowth, spiny pillars of deadwood peeking out from the shade of old man evergreens and secret cabins. Purple poppies and odd shaped conglomerates, dark spaces and drop-offs. Vertical striations in pale panoramic layouts, barbecued rock, jagged and unfriendly. Mirror glass tubs of rippling fresh water, cotton clouds blanketing the peaks of poignant pinnacles.