Palo Alto

The men in this town do not jog. They sprint. The one going by now does it evenly, naked from the waist up including his bald head, cheeks puffed out below wire-rimmed glasses. He runs on the street, too quick for the narrow sidewalks, with the moms and their strollers all parading underneath lamp-post banners that read “Eat. Shop. Drink. Think.” Which is nice, putting thinking down as something one could do for fun. Purchase a bold new scarf at the Chicos, allow the coding solution you needed to materialize before your very eyes. 

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By Jessie Eastland (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Emigrant

Looking for long-eared lopers in the hedgerows and wild-rosehip spreckled hillsides around this brown puddle backup to a backup reservoir — well maybe I’ll just admit now, everything easier to see clearly when soon abandoned — that it really is just water for the motorhomes motorboats and motormouths who spend the summers droning while the dog, my sister and I investigate the hardened pathways that lead both away and toward the parking lots.

Hiking the Gorge of Many Faces

If you’re in the woods and a rock looks fuzzy, there’s a reason Moss grew on its head while the rain fell. Don’t trust it — It only appears to be anchored to the hillside. Like an unstable partner it will unmoor, taking you down with it as you attempt to climb. Moss on rocks:…