san simeon

Standing in the little parking lot near the San Simeon post office, hardly the size of a postage stamp itself, the soft scent of the eucalyptus wafts around you and Hearst Castle appears far off on the hills.

 

Strong memories seep out of that pavement -- ornate, cold marble floors and passageways in the castle, a long-held obsession with palm trees because they meant California and California still meant home, the red licorice whip granddad bought me when he got rich, molasses black.

 

 

The one room school house, still standing, isn't empty. It doesn't house classes or books, but the swallow nests fill the eaves as the birds fly helter shelter in their distinctive swoops.

 

As the sun set, their shadows darted back and forth over the long grass and white wooden walls.