Piedras Blancas Light Station
Some places live in my memory as though a dream.
Piedras Blancas Light Station is one such memory. Was it the work of my imagination, this deserted, textural, rock-hewn place?
This dreamscape in millennial pink, lonely except for the pollinating insects and waterfowl, the fin that pierced the blanketing sea.
The strange headless beacon, sun-bleached like a bone.
There were even strange beasts in the throes of a struggle, crying with deep gurgling voices to the wind.
