Alta Vista

The trail to Alta Vista is a mighty sweaty battle

In the summer when the horse flies buzz around your saddle

Sagebrush and lupine cast their scent into the breeze

That is where my mother spent her fifties

Alta Vista was a homestead cabin built of redwood logs

High above the Big Sur coastline and the ocean fog

Manual typewriter on a table by a tree was all my mother needed to be free

She wrote about her meetings with coyote and raccoon

Staring down a wildcat on a lonely afternoon chopping wood for cooking and to keep away

The cold to keep away the loneliness of growing old

The call of home and family finally drove her down the trail

Back to modern living and all of its travails but always she'd remember the refuge of that

Place A peace of mind that time could not erase

All that's left of Alta Vista and my mother are some ashes

And photos of the coastline where the blue Pacific crashes

If spirits have a resting place that is where she lies

Where condors and eagles take the skies In my dreams I can still see her

Beneath her favorite oak tree savoring the sunset as evening's coming on

Crickets and coyotes join into the chorus blending with the quiet sound of Alta Vista's song

Crickets and coyotes join into the chorus blending with the quiet sound of Alta Vista's song