I've lived here, in Pacifica, for a bit over a year now. I walk down to the bright yellow, beachside Chit Chat Cafe every week or so, getting pulled down the sidewalk by the over-eager Australian Shepherd toward the warmth of the cafe and caffeinated bliss. On the west side of Esplanade, I see the intricacies of coastal flowers; the cold, industrial chain link fence that runs along the edge of the sand, ruining an otherwise perfect view of the coastal bluff; and, lately, the giant machinery that moves boulders down to the ever-eastward-shifting line between surf and cliff. On the east, I've seen the phalanx of pastel, stuccoed apartments; showy new decks; and the tall, podded blooms of some gigantic aloe-like plant that makes me think of dinosaurs. But never have I seen these two joyful forms atop the pylon, standing guard beside the rusty gate, and waiting to make me smile.
