Tonight we are hang gliding above the blue pacific just off the Northern California shore.  The sky is so bright, so blue, that no poet, no painter, could write nor blend pigment to faithfully represent.  Wind buffets as we cut and soar.  Birds of differing feather stretch wing beside us and gaze as if to say we belong, though they humble us as they display airborne skills our cloth and frame triangles could never imitate.  As the day wears on we allow ourselves to slowly descend to the sandy beach below.  We stow our gear and kindle to life a gentle fire that in time glows red-orange.  Carefully, we bury potatoes deep in the colorful ambers, allowing them to bake while steaks sear on grate above.  Our king’s meal is made complete as we sip a deep red cabernet birthed in that well known valley–Sonoma.  We hold each other tight as the sun turns pink, then gold, and reluctantly sets below the ocean’s unending horizon.