Favorite Red Light

I journey out of my way to arrive there. I slow down if I see it is green.

The road to it is a gentle wave, slightly up and easily down, curving to the left, curling to the right. Seapoint Drive surfs along the open area to the right, where oil wells are still active. Seapoint Drive flows past communities to the left, guard houses keeping residents undisturbed.

The road crests. I see the Pacific. If no one is near to the rear I adjust my speed, balancing forward motion with a desire for permission to stop.

The ocean view expands across my windshield. The sun roof opens. The windows slide down. The sound is a shush, ebbing and flowing in my ears, allowing the sea’s voice to enter the car. Traffic on Coast Highway flows.

Red light must fade to green. I inch to the left, pacing speed to allow pedestrians and bicycles safe passage. I happily wait. Waves lap the shore, frequencies vary. Long lines of curls and always someone finds something surf worthy.

The sun sets. The sun rises. The sun hangs high. The moon phases. Clouds drift. Snow is unknown.

The current of the road pulls me gently home. If it is evening, I will do it again in the morning. If morning, I will look forward to the ride home in the night. Behind me the light, that excellent light, slows others so that they too may gaze and perhaps feel peace.