Fifteen years of my life have come and gone, like precious time that is lost at sea, since I last lived in Morro Bay, California. And God willing, hopefully it will take less than fifteen more to find my way back home for good.

It is nearly dawn in Morro Bay, California, and the crisp morning air from the Pacific Ocean fills ones lungs with fresh Oxygen and the purity of the Oceans pungent and invigorating moist salt air. The silvery colored face of the man in the Titanium White Moon glares incessantly, and is barely visible thru the morning fog, as the weathered old fishing boats gently rock and creak in the slow moving oceans bay currents. The fishermen are beginning to quietly move about the Embarcadero and their faces seem weathered from the exhaustion of having to continuously rise at dawn year in and year out. They work with an eager pace but seem overcome from the repetition of continually having to stitch together their worn and torn apart fishing nets in the morning coastal fog. They are dressed in tattered and faded old jeans with rubber boots and brightly colored yellow jackets that show years of hard work. Their hands are rough and calloused like leather, and they sport nylon stretch over hats that remind me of the fisherman scene out of "The Old Man and the Sea Movie".

The view from the top of the cliff where I stand is picturesque, and a thicket grove consisting of giant Eucalyptus trees growing below me are fashionably colored with different vibrant shades of menthol and viridian greens. The top of the cliffs where I am standing is located close to the Eucalyptus treetops, and I have a mesmerizing bird's eye view of the entire coastal area, that allows me to absorb the true beauty of the Central Coast, and the entire Morro Bay. Across the Bay are the Golden rolling sand dunes that are covered with Ice plant and Eucalyptus trees, that is known as Montana De Oro. It has a Spanish name given to it many years ago from the earlier settlers that means Mountain of Gold. As I glance to the right of me down the Pacific coastline towards the sleepy little coastal towns of Cayucas and Cambria, I notice that the city of Morro Bay has three giant electricity power plant steam stacks that oddly enough to me resemble Poseidon's Trident. The giant steam stacks huff and puff out white colored steam around the clock, and from somewhere in my fruitful imagination they remind me of a childhood story of the "Big Bad Wolf" who tried to huff and puff, and blow down the house of the three little pigs with never ending zeal. Beauty in this area permeates the California Coast and blossoms profuse everywhere. The Morro Bay is a quiet place of sanctuary that is easily overlooked by driving right past the exit, down on Highway 1 as yet another day by the beloved ocean quietly unravels. Every morning the protective coastal fog slowly begins to melt, as it has for a thousand days, and a thousand years, and then it evaporates into thin air, invisible to the naked eye.

Today the morning has an unusual stillness in the air that is peaceful and serene. In the faded background, there is the faint murmur of gesturing Seals and Sea Lions that are barking under the Marina Pier in quest of fresh fish from the local fisherman, and in the background, is the rumbling sounds of soothing waves along the coast that brings forth a comforting serenity. Down the coast to the left of me, there are Clam diggers in knee high boots, who are over come with constant digging in pursuit of tasty morsels, and there are meticulously restored Pirate looking ships that have snuck in under the shroud of the morning fog that hide in the calm waters of the Morro Bay. A foghorn begins to bellow from a not to distant ship coming in from the pacific, and as I squint my curious morning eyes I notice that the approaching fishing trawler is bringing in its fresh catch, and sounds like a giant Tug Boat giving advanced warning of its arrival. The Sea Gulls that are following the trawler hover closely by in reckless abandon, and they are motivated and hungry for food and companionship, as they seem to effortlessly float in the cool breeze.

I notice that early this morning the hillside cliffs above the Morro Bay where I stand are still quiet early this morning unlike the tame less ocean, but are jammed with overbooked Hotels, Motels and Seashell shops, as the fiery golden Sun is beginning to rise its way thru the morning fog to slowly warm up the sleepy coastal divide. An elderly woman with fair colored skin and gray hair who is dressed in pink is up early today like me, and she is walking her life long companion dog on a leash, as he frequently stops to smell the blooming yellow Ice Plant that blossoms profusely along the strand this time of year. There is a kite shop just across the street from where I am at that has spinning type kites that are gently swirling in the morning breeze in front of the shop, and for a second my attention now is upon the explosive colors of the kites and the mind captivating spinning ones. Two large Sea Gulls that are colored off White and Paynes Gray, dive down from the Heavens, like Angels on a mission, and land on top of a small sea side cottage home just a stones throw away from me. They start their early morning serenade of squawking mischief, and then eagerly engage in their ritual morning courtship. I think for a moment that the Sea Gulls are the true owners of this beautiful Bay, and they just hang around here because they know it is one of the most beautiful places on Earth to live. Behind me shrouded in the protective coastal fog, not far from where I am at, there are retired couples still asleep in winter slumber. They live in trailer home communities by the sea, as they savor their precious time to sit back, relax and lament. Their lives are filled with meaningful stories, and a satiety that they have settled for, as they recall the years that keep slipping by, one by one, like the sounds of a ticking clock and another year of restless spent.

As I approach the cliff side stair steps that head down the surrounding hill, I pass thru a patch of Orange, Yellow and Red colored Nasturtiums that have Lime Green colored Lily Pad looking stems and leaves that strike me as unusual and different. I also notice that one of the houses to the right of me has a back yard that strangely enough is filled with numerous White Marble Statues that overlook the Ocean. The back yard of Statues even has a commemorative large Statue of Liberty. My mind begins to think about "why so many statues" as two local Surfers approach me on their way to surf the cold early morning Morro Beach sets. They say to me, "up early today mate, gonna surf today buddy"? Their wet suits fit their muscular bodies, like snug body gloves, and they are "totally stoaked" with anticipation, ready for the perfect oneness they will enjoy with the ocean that only surfers know about. "What's it like" I say back to them, and they reply "three foot and perfect glass I hear". After a few brief moments of conversation about local life they begin to chuckle, and as they walk away, I notice they are passing something back and forth between themselves, and the feathered faint smell of Cannabis Sativa permeates the moist morning air and my steps down the staircase, like theirs become lighter and lighter. My thoughts reminisce about Mr. Zoggs Cherry scented Surfing Sex Wax that we used to put on our surf boards in my youthful days of shredding up the East coast waves of Florida in our quests to revel in the Sun of the never ending summers.

The stair steps that I am now heading down have been firmly constructed of weathered Redwood steps and Steel rails, and as I mingle thru the morning hazy fog, it reminds me of an obscure black and white Hitchcock movie scene because everything is shrouded in fog. The surfers that have passed me by have now disappeared into the coastal fog and the faint sounds of the distant crashing Ocean waves and Sea Gulls clowning around have now attracted my attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that there is a strange odd movement to the Eucalyptus trees and the pungent smell of Menthol begins to overcome my senses. The trees which naturally have a Menthol scent seem to be moving, and strangely enough there is barely enough wind in the air to account for their unusual movement. Perhaps, I had a little too much award winning Central Coast Cabernet Sauvignon last night as we celebrated our mid life youth. Although the Eucalyptus trees bark seems to have a rather strange Orange and Black coloring to them, I do not pay too much attention to the moving trees, because after all, this is the State of California which is well known for its sporadic earthquakes ranging from light tremors to big jolts. I take a minute and begin to rub my sleepy eyes and I notice the view coming down the cliff staircase towards the sea is breathtaking, and it reminds me of a dream that I am in, one in which I do not wish to awaken from. There is such poetic beauty and gracefulness that abounds everywhere in Morro Bay, and it fills my soul with contentment. My eyes will never grow tired of this special place, because for me it is like staring at a Vincent Van Gogh painting, and I will never find enough time on earth to fully absorb its simplicity and unparalleled brilliance. My mind drifts back a few years for just a few seconds and a thought occurs to me that this little slice of Heaven that God created here, reminds me of another quaint little coastal town that I am very fond of located in Samos, Greece. Both places have beautiful vistas and serene coastal lines, and both places hold sacred spots deep within my heart.

A fog forms in the air from each deep breathe of life that I take, as I inhale and exhale life's possibilities and what life really should be all about. As you grow older and your priorities change, so does your perspective of the world. And even though I no longer surf, I insist that my life must now be filled with calm, peace, laughter, serenity, art, and good wine accompanied by good friends, because those things are a big part of what my life is all about, now that I am 40 plus. For some strange reason or another, most of my life fortunately has been lived very close to the Ocean. When I am away from the Sea, I somehow feel magnetically imbalanced. I too am like an aging tug boat that lives by the Sea and has weathered many a Nautical mile, and I am still intact having crossed many a Sea as parts of me are beginning to creek and show signs of aging also, but still my motor continues to run, next to the big Blue Sea. To me, it is a joy to drift thru life's little Ocean currents of triumphs and tragedies and simply breathe. Today the seconds seem like minutes, and the minutes seem like hours and I am happy to simply be alive. I am ecstatically overwhelmed, by the Magical offerings of quaint Morro Bay.

It is hard to believe it is so quiet like this in the morning around here "I think to myself", as my mind wanders back to the big city of San Diego where the concrete jungle is slowly wearing away the façade of America's finest city. The down town traffic jams and expanding population numbers have raised the noise level decibels dramatically over the last ten years, and year after year the quiet Ocean whisperings of Morro Bay, San Luis Obispo and the allure of the Central Coast keep trying to lure me back home for good. Like a fish attracted to a shiny fishing lure, perhaps when I have enough retirement money invested in the bank, and my wife Paula finishes her Doctorate Program I will give it more thought. But until then, I am going to just absorb this wonderful day and wander about in my splendor, in a place that will always be my secret getaway, while on vacation here. Today I am going to savor a bit more of the Central Coast splendor and roll the name of "Morro Bay" around in my head for a while, because this mellow area allows me to shut down the pressures of the real world, and lets me relax by simply being here.

The Eucalyptus trees are now beginning to sway once again, but still there is no wind only fog. Could a slight earthquake tremor be happening again? It is nearly 6:30 am in the morning now and as I continue to cascade down the steep steps, I wish I had some coffee to clear my head, and I notice something very odd. A Monarch Butterfly appears from know where and playfully darts around me as I look on with curiosity. A Captain on one of the fishing boats blows a horn for his shipmates to board and it startles me. Another Monarch Butterfly appears, then another, and another. "Where are they all coming from I think to myself"?

The morning sun and the coastal fog create a mosaic mélange and the fishermen that have finished organizing their equipment are beginning to load the boats with stitched nets, poles and eager tourists, as the Monarchs look on with silent abandon. In the distance, there is a lone Peregrine Falcon that soars high above the mighty Morro Rock that eventually lands near the top. I wonder with curiosity whether the Falcon nest by chance has precious tiny little Falcon Eggs in it or not? The faint Blue color of the sky is beginning to infuse itself with the Blanc White coastal fog, as the Cadmium Yellow Sun brings forth the early morning Sun worshipping crowd that is beginning to appear along the somber coast. Another Monarch Butterfly appears out of thin air, and darts right in front of me. The Monarch Butterfly is colored flame Orange and Black and flashes fluid and lucid movements that even a Degas Ballerina would love to have. "This is weird" and why are there so many Butterflies in this particular area this morning I begin to think.

As I approach the first flat level of the steep stairs that are heading down the cliff towards the Embarcadero, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the Ash Green colored leaves on the Eucalyptus trees are beginning to slowly move also. Not only is the tree bark beginning to move, but, now the leaves are beginning to sway, and the fog slowly begins to melt into oblivion. There is another blast of the fisherman's horn and one of life's miracles happens. Sometimes in your life, things happen that create a frozen moment in time. If I spent the rest of my life wandering the Earth like a lost soul and waiting for it to happen again, it probably would never repeat itself. There is another loud blast of a fishing boat horn that startles me and the Eucalyptus trees, and that magical moment in time freezes, as the Flight of the Monarchs is about to begin.

My eyes turn skyward as the Cerulean Blue sky and gentle wind turn life's canvas into another dreamy artistic vision, that I imagine will turn into an oil painting that I will paint some day, as the Monarchs begin to appear like soldiers on a forgotten front. They have blended in so well with the Eucalyptus trees that I did not notice them. The Butterfly's are like Chameleons, they seem to blend in and become part of the trees, and I realize that these beautiful Monarch and Painted Lady Butterfly's have simply been resting from their long journey from Canada. Oddly enough, their perfectly aligned bodies look like they have become a portion of the trees, as overnight they organized themselves tightly together in the Eucalyptus trees for warmth. They have formed a unique sort of windbreak together amongst themselves, lined up besides each other for protection, and they are barely visible in the thinning coastal morning fog. With one last ferocious blast from the fishing boat horn that shrieks for the last boarding call, the Monarch Butterfly's who suddenly appear everywhere in the trees have become startled, and begin to stir about. I am overcome with amazement and my feet have become frozen, sort of like wearing Concrete Boots that you can't move in, as hundreds maybe thousands of Monarchs begin to move about. The Eucalyptus trees seem to be dancing in a strange melting motion as the Monarchs that are huddled to the trees begin to flap their Orange and Black colored wings in a gesture of quick awakening. The fog is beginning to thin a bit and I notice that the Eucalyptus trees that are growing around and above me over the years have grown into a canopy covering. It seems to be the perfect refuge for these beautiful Butterfly's and for a moment, it seems like everything is moving in Dreamy slow motion.

Watching the Monarch Butterfly's flutter about is reminiscent of being in a surreal dream that you are not sure if it is real or not. If I could ever share with someone a special moment in time, it would be this moment. For mine eyes have now witnessed the magic of Gods tender touch, and my vision becomes temporarily overcome with visual Spiritualization, as my rhythmic heartbeat seems to beat a bit louder. Heavy is my chest, because my Heart is over come with contentment and privilege of observation on this special day. The Morro Bay area to me will always hold a tender spot in my Heart, and there is not a day that goes by that I do not recall those glorious days of past Central Coast living. It has been almost fifteen years since I lived here past, but every time I revisit this area it becomes harder and harder to go home. The Morro Bay area and the little towns that surround it like Avila, Cayucas, Los Osos, Cambria and Harmony have become my favorite places to escape to. It was good enough for Charlie Chaplin and Rudolph Valentino years ago, and it sure is good enough for me, as the stillness and purity of the Ocean air has made it one of my favorite spots to often revisit. Sometimes I simply pour myself a complex glassful of Adelaida or Le Cuvier Chardonnay, or a Justin Isosceles at my San Diego home, and I can taste and smell the concentrated Perfumed flavors of the glorious Central Coast wineries. I am often left with a sense of abandonment, that overcomes my daily thoughts, and a longing to return back to the Central Coast often overcomes me.

Time has no real meaning in Morro Bay, for it is always the same. It is a Coastal Oasis that is a place of relaxation for the commoners and a place of refuge for the seasonal migrating Monarch Butterfly's who migrate yearly from Canada in route to Mexico for winter warmth. Morro Bay to me is indeed a unique place on the California Central Coast, that year after satisfying year attracts lonely hearted souls searching for individual freedom, inspires talented Poets, Writers and Artists galore, and is a want to be home to people just like me, who are in search of serenity and simple peace of mind.

The Monarchs are now beginning to stir and all I can do is watch them in amazement, for I too have become like one of the Marble Statues in the next door neighbors yard, that has become frozen in movement and thought. The wind is now beginning to slightly stir, and the Golden Sun has begun to melt away the morning coastal fog as the Monarchs begin to take flight. They fly like Angels, with unpredictable floating movements, as the ship boat horns and the sounds of incoming traffic in the background begin to sound like distant Orchestration Horns. I take in a deep breath and swallow contently, for I cannot believe this is really happening. Two Butterfly's turn into four, four turns to eight, and eventually the sky is filled with thousands of Monarchs, who's beating wings faintly sound like the mumbling sounds of the fishing boats engines. Now there are thousands of them stirring about and beginning to fly around me, and one by one they take flight and disappear into the southern winds of change that offers them new fertility and freedom. They are heading to Mexico to find Milk Weed plants to gorge themselves upon, and my mind comes up with the phrase "Fly on Angels Fly". They are so beautiful to watch and I can only wonder if they know how much I would be willing to give, to be able to fly side by side with them on their migratory mysterious flight.

It is a dream come true and as I begin to roll my head around on my Marbleized stiff neck, the Butterfly's are now flying everywhere around me in the Eucalyptus thicket. Splendid is the moment that I live right now, so with smile Marbleized on my face, I continue to lightly walk down my own steps of freedom in beautiful Morro Bay. I have only two more days left to discover another miracle in Gods country, and I realize that I have the rest of my life to try to eventually find my way back to plant roots here for good. Who knows, maybe someday the Monarchs and I will cross paths again. As the early dawn Coastal fog fades into another perfectly clear winter morning, eventually I find my way down the steps, to the Morro Rock surfing area, still shaking my head in disbelief.

For a brief moment, a question occurs to me as to "why do the older retired people who live along the coast like to rise at dawn on a routine daily basis"? It is an exceptional day, just like today, that answers that question for me. My early dawn morning stroll has taken me past the quaint Coffee and Sea Shell shops along the strand, past the Surf shops and fishing boats, and beyond the Pier that offers fresh seafood and charming Ocean side restaurants, which permeate the scent of the ocean's bounty. Wandering aimlessly step by step, I keep walking past the fishing boats, and then past the three giant Morro Bay steam stacks. My magnetic journey tells me to continue out the small sandy road that heads towards the enormous Morro Rock, which is one of seven extinct Volcano sisters that run along the Pacific Coast line. The view is breath taking just past the sand dunes and the moist salt air abruptly hits you in the face and forces you to breathe in the purity that makes one feel young and alive. I wander around for a little while, and eventually meander over to the surfing area. I find a large Granite rock that sparkles in the Sun next to the Pacific Ocean to sit upon that offers the best possible view of the giant Morro Rock and surrounding surfing area. I sit in quiet and ponder upon the miracle of the Monarch's that I have just been witness too, as several raucous Sea Gulls nearby look back at me and wonder why I think this place is so different from the rest of the world. The fiery Sun has now begun to warm the Coast a bit and the two Surfers that I met several hours earlier start to come out of the Ocean, tightly holding their surfboards under their arms. Their faces are sun tanned and dripping wet, and this time they pass me bye once again and they say, "what are you waiting for mate?" I reply back to them "the Monarchs Man", "I was waiting on the Monarchs". They shrug their shoulders and look at each other in a somewhat confused fashion and they harmoniously say "trippy" as they both stare at me and offer up a friendly California smile as they begin to walk away. With Surfboard leashes dragging in the sand, they leave a trail of salt water slowly dripping behind them onto the gravel and dirt parking lot.

I think for a moment about going for a quick swim in the deep Pacific Blue but I realize that today it is too early and far too cold. After a couple of moments pass by and the Sun begins to reenergize me, I stand upon the sparkling Granite rock that I was sitting upon, and as the surfers walk away and their wet foot prints eventually fade to dust, a gust of wind from Heaven swirls around me, fresh from off the mighty Pacific Ocean. Two Monarch Butterflies slowly drift bye and circle around me a couple of times. Perhaps they are just saying goodbye until we meet again. My subconscious ponders upon the thought of "may the winds of change carry you lightly little Butterfly's so fly on little Angels, spread your wings and fly". As I look back towards the scenic Coastline, the Surfers whom I ran into earlier are now gone. They too have disappeared into thin air, much like the loyal Monarch Butterfly's who return year after year do, and they are replaced by other loyal Surfers destined to find serenity. It is a glorious day to be alive on the Central Coast, and today I wonder just how long this all too short vacation will last. A quick glance at my Rado wrist watch shows that it is already 9 am, and a boyish grin over comes my aging face as I ponder for yet another moment. As time continues to tick I wonder just how long it is going be until I am able to make it back here for good ?