Back to Columbia SHP, nested deep inside the Sierra foothills. On the way out, the wild flowers are already half through blooming, I realized we missed a season. It’s funny how you remember a road in a season, that scenery becomes part of the road memory.
When we arrived Columbia, it’s almost 6 o’clock, the town is quieted down from the tourists, we almost have the entire town to ourselves. I love this time of the day, soft light glows on everything it reaches, taking the edges away, all mixed into a soft spoken tone.
When we reached the end of the main street, the setting sun was hitting right through the corner of an old building, lighting up the silhouette. With fresh green new spring grass, it’s like a warm touch to the old town, also like sigh from the past. I love to get lost in those moments, like a doorway beyond time.
We went to our favorite restaurant to get our pizza to go. That has almost become our tradition here. Their pizza is rich with cheese, very flavorful. It’s like Columbia flavor. While waiting for the pizza, I noticed a historical marker on the wall. In 1851, some guy got so drunken he stabbed someone to death, but avoided the lynching and got 7 years in prison instead. It all happened here where I stood. Fascinating, I love those old historical tales, they add more spice to the pizza.
On our way back, we followed rising moon going home. Good night, Sierras, until next time, I whispered.
