An Action
Overlooking from Surfer’s Overlook
Every time I come here it all rushes back. Standing with my knees pushed against the guardrail and my feet on the cement curb my childhood hits me like a brick to the face. I can smell waterballoons popping on hot pavement and the sulfur from fireworks as they leave our twelve-year-old finger tips and explode feet below. There is a section of a road in my hometown that overlooks the beach. You can see from Bolinas all the way past Stinson Beach to the white dot houses of San Francisco and on a clear day all the way down to Santa Cruz. Many pieces of retaining wall attempts keep the sandy cliff from giving way and collapsing. It is known simply as Surfer’s Overlook.
Besides the artfully scrawled “LOCAL RESPECT” on the green sea wall below, the overlook is a friendly place. A man who’s name I don’t know is always perched on the guardrail. Shirtless and wearing a red hat, he greets those who walks by and maintains a positive attitude. He knows the sand bar below by heart. A few months ago I found myself on the overlook looking at a swarm of sardines being chased by sea lions with an old couple I didn’t know. They shared a bottle of wine between two steel goblets. The man claimed to have been a caretaker on the Farallon Islands and made sure I knew it was another world out there.
It is in looking from Surfer’s Overlook that I realize I often overlook the essentials of life all too frequently. Extreme beauty and human kindness are what I want my life to revolve around. This is clearest to me when looking off of Surfer’s Overlook.
Word Count: 286
Every time I come here it all rushes back. Standing with my knees pushed against the guardrail and my feet on the cement curb my childhood hits me like a brick to the face. I can smell waterballoons popping on hot pavement and the sulfur from fireworks as they leave our twelve-year-old finger tips and explode feet below. There is a section of a road in my hometown that overlooks the beach. You can see from Bolinas all the way past Stinson Beach to the white dot houses of San Francisco and on a clear day all the way down to Santa Cruz. Many pieces of retaining wall attempts keep the sandy cliff from giving way and collapsing. It is known simply as Surfer’s Overlook.
Besides the artfully scrawled “LOCAL RESPECT” on the green sea wall below, the overlook is a friendly place. A man who’s name I don’t know is always perched on the guardrail. Shirtless and wearing a red hat, he greets those who walks by and maintains a positive attitude. He knows the sand bar below by heart. A few months ago I found myself on the overlook looking at a swarm of sardines being chased by sea lions with an old couple I didn’t know. They shared a bottle of wine between two steel goblets. The man claimed to have been a caretaker on the Farallon Islands and made sure I knew it was another world out there.
It is in looking from Surfer’s Overlook that I realize I often overlook the essentials of life all too frequently. Extreme beauty and human kindness are what I want my life to revolve around. This is clearest to me when looking off of Surfer’s Overlook.
Word Count: 286