Half Moon Bay

Tires sink into cement and lights are floating lanterns hanging in the early morning sky. The sky is wet with dew and the crash of waves and the tumbling of rock slipping down wet cliffs. It’s peaceful here, sitting in the bramble. I’m lodged between icy moss-covered stones and faded tributaries that make a perfect juxtaposition for this seemingly average, yet undeniably numinous town. Someone not so long ago saw the moon shaped bends of cliff and beaches and named this torpid town “Half Moon Bay.” Old pipes from the 60’s are now coated in hard browned rust creating strange fossil-like shapes that mystify fictile tourists and make locals laugh. Yet the cemetery hidden to the left of the newly built Ritz Hotel, just in front of the trailer park is the best kept secret in our quiescent town. Where the trees twist into one other and the stones have overturned, slanted, and sunken from years of neglect.