It’s the easy Cruz’n
rhythm
you’ll find
as I have found—
It’s the ever-changing rhythm
of surprise
surf is
A state of mind they say this place The Cruz is—
Like, it’s The Cruz, the beautiful Cruz, the easy livin’, laid back,
trippin’ along whatever you wanna be Cruz, like, nowhere else.
The Cruz—
Like, all you have’ta do
is get out
& experience it for yourself & you’ll know
why they call it cruzin’
on The Cruz—
Go out & stand
upon a bluff
& gaze out over the Sun-bright beaches goin’ round the Bay
and you’ll get the feel alright,
like, it’s as gorgeous of a diamond-scintillating
Goddess coast
as you will ever find.
They know who come streaming & streaming in.
And they come to
play
the day at the amusement-packed
Beach Boardwalk, to hit the shops
&
restaurant-packed wharf,
to beach blanket the sands, like, just catchin’ the rays;
at
the edge of the sea, imagine, all the picnics;
& they gather round evening fire
pits;
or you see the loners
just saunterin’ the strand,
as
the surfer dudes are out cruzin’ a ride on the big
ones
curlin’ in at
—it’s big time surfer
town, the original surf town—,
Lighthouse Point there on the rock torn edge of
the world the waves
of the great Pacific pound upon—
Oh, but She calms
the ferociousness of the incoming
open Sea,
the Bay waters of autumn their
turquoise sheen of utter tranquility
& brilliant shaft of sunset light upon,
mesmerizing all who stand in awe
upon the bluffs of The Cruz—
It’s the Sun going down,
it’s something about the Pacific horizon.
The mudslide rains
of winter gray will pour & pour
down,
but there’re minstrels making music set
up just inside from the rain,
the shiny wet colors outside all so
rich, such richness of the shiny greens,
the flowers—
In the winter, still flowers; in January, already
the acacias bloomin’,
already the beginning of the long, long spring...
The Cruz—
Where heavy, coastal curtains of fog, how they get
pulled in
after the heat of days, the sudden
summertime surprising chill,
yet the desire-inspiring moist
warmth you find of the so strangely
illuminated night;
and you will find the mellow of
Sun-filled summery-like days
right smack in the middle of winter days.
You will see then
the
other side the Bay,
mysterious
And you are dreamin’ the
dream you are here—
such beauty is equal to any.
Seems
the quiet
redwood mountains surrounding have
carved out a niche
next the Bay of an ocean of
always-to-the-newcomer paradise—
Oh, and such a life-is-so-good, isn’t it, to be cruzin’ sippin’ wine
or a piña colada gazin’ out the big windows watchin’
the sailing yachts
in & out the harbor,
the sands of the
bikini-clad below
—every Wednesday
it’s the sailing regatta—;
or you’re loungin’
with your fruit combo smoothie out on the palm patio,
or hang out hours chatting or
people watchin’ at some one among
so many cafés—
inside the Vortex The Cruz swirlin’ & swirlin’ its
currents
of people bein’
pulled in, from all over the world they get pulled in,
the tourists & students &
wanderers & just passing through,
always you find the just-out-of-towners,
& locals who come out cruzin’
on the Ave just about every day—
Impressions gather of the promenade of persons up
& down the Ave,
the cruzin’ bloomin’
diverse panoply of persons,
the street performers famous of the
Ave—you’ll hear the music, the beat,
the poet recite,
the artists of bubbles &
balloons & costume, oh, the craziness & quirkiness,
you’ll see it all,
& all
just cruzin’ bein’ freely
who they are.
As the young skateboarders cruise like surfin’ the sloping streets
throughout The Cruz.
Like, it’s as cool & as casual as, What’s happenin’, dude?
Like,
whatever, just bein’—
The Cruz—
As cruzin’ as pelicans
cruise along just above the rollin’ surf,
as the cormorants gather upon the
sea-stained stacks
&
gulls you see wheel about in the wind,
as shearwaters by the thousands thousands of miles come to feast,
as seals & sea lions sun on the
sea rocks, sleep under the wharf,
as sea otters—look out among the
kelp bed blades—you’ll see ‘em
rollin’ & poppin’
up in the canopy of blades,
& whales you might catch sight
of off in the distance,
as sandpipers run the beaches, and
egrets & herons are out stalking
in the rivers & in the marshes & lagoons,
as the mockingbirds of spring will
sing crazily here, all night.
As the monarchs of wintertime flit & cruise
all about town,
& return at the chill to the famous sheltering
grove of Natural Bridges,
people come from all over to gaze up at
the clouds of them,
marvelous sight among cruzin’
sights—
Marvelous,
all of them.
Oh, you’ll hear
the drummin’
gatherings out on the beaches
& see all the cruzin’
streams of persons out on West Cliff
or out on the endless sands of
where even the big family Thanksgiving
feasts they’ll spread out
over the tables there—it’s quite the tradition—,
or get-away summer crowds converge
upon touristy, picture-perfect,
leisurely Capitola-by-the-Sea,
or inside the
Vortex of The Cruz,
thousands converge as that cruzin’ rhythm parade of persons
spills over both sides the Ave, evening’s
pink & lavender horizon
your eyes swim in,
like all the wild, wonderful, livin’ freely of abundant livin’
things
together existin’
as the rich biodiversity of place precious
of this coast.
We will always when we hear mention of
remember how this was the unparalleled beautiful
state of mind,
The Cruz.
December 2006/2007