I watch an astral chakra-like orb erupt from the setting sun over the ocean and I want Big Sur to offer a standing ovation. Instead it stands there humble and majestic. The fog at its shoulders adding air to its mountainous earthen body. But still dormant all the same. The fireball to its western quarters turning the rest of this paradise all shades of orange, pink, and purple with its verbose volleys of natural energy, being thrown every which way. And this mountain lies still its own diverse network of patterns, gullies, and rock beaten frequencies unchanged. You’d think this rolling back of daylight into nighttime would rattle even the thickest of wills. But no match for this mountain rushing with all its own land mass back into the sea in a giant glorious sweep of might and fury. The ocean crashing at its feet and the fog continuing to roll in over its head covering the whole body of it all while dark continues to deepen and night continues expanding forward onto the horizon giving cloak to hulk to mountain to hull and shell to sea and earth and heavens all over again once more.
The Life and Works of Marshall James Kavanaugh 