Utopia

Sweet red plums grasp their stems like a rock climber gripping a cliff with two fingers. The nearby hives hum with the busy work of the bees, carrying the nectar of the bountiful flowers off the fruit trees. The smell of the sweet blossoms drift under my nose, as though I am a sommelier of the outdoors, and I catch notes of the California coast - the ocean carrying the seaweed to the shore along with the surfers, the serene evergreen forests and the faint must of the giant hundred year old Sequoias, and the smell of José’s tacos al pastor wafting from his open fire pit. My mouth begins to water as I reminisce about the last gathering at José’s. José tending to the charring pork spinning on the spit above the fire, the sweet glaze of the pineapple making its way down the spit like I traveled down the coast to get here. Laughter filling the air, following the path carved…