I saw a heron standing poised on one leg in Morro Bay estuary. He slowly lowered one leg, dipped his head, and then pulled his leg up again to assume the same pose. I could view the estuary outside the big picture window where we were seated for Christmas Day brunch in the Morro Bay Inn restaurant. The heron I saw looked exactly like the heron standing poised on one leg that was captured in a framed photograph hanging beside our table. Exactly the same spot, exactly the same lighting, exactly the same sky, exactly the same calm water. Was it the same bird? Did they pay him to stand there?
Seated at the table next to us was an elderly gentleman. He sat silently with one glass of white wine in front of him and read a paperback spy novel. He never got up to fill a plate with food. No one joined him. I thought about speaking to him, but didn't, and I feel a bit guilty about that now, but the surest signal that you don't want to talk is to bury your face in a book. I hope he was just waiting. I hope he had someone, somewhere. If not, I'm a little sad for him. Merry Christmas, sir. That night, when the brunch had worn off and we needed a bite to eat for dinner, we drove through the dark streets of Morro Bay. We found one restaurant open. A Mexican restaurant where I had delicious Albondigas soup that I haven't been able to find available since I left San Antonio six years ago. Another elderly gentleman sat by himself at the next table, but he was not as disengaged as our brunch companion. The restaurant owners were having a birthday celebration for one of their family and the patrons joined in a round of Happy Birthday To You. The gentleman chuckled and said to me that December 25 must be a terrible day to have been born--you miss out on all the extra presents.
On our drive home, I saw three rainbows. The first rainbow stretched over a green valley that came to a perfect V on the horizon. Settled precisely in the V was Morro rock. The rolling hills were filled with large oaks that were covered in long strands of light green moss. The moss would be the death of those trees eventually, but for now they wore beautiful green gowns with shimmering fringe like Twenties era speakeasy girls. The second rainbow spanned the entire sky over the Paso Robles vineyards--mile after mile of dormant plants and stone estates. On hills around the vineyards, black Angus cattle stood in the new grass that had sprouted from the recent rains. The rain had washed the cattle clean and their hides looked like soft black velvet. We took a turn off the highway and set out for the Mission San Antonio de Padua--the "Mission of the Oaks." The third rainbow ended just over the mission buildings at the end of our trail.
At the mission, I saw a dark seventeenth century chapel. Centuries old paintings lined the stucco walls. Three pine trees had been placed around the alter. Their Christmas decorations had already been removed but I could see small bits of silver tinsel left behind on their branches. The baby Jesus still rested in his crib in front of the alter. Life sized, carved and painted wood. A few candles flickered in red glass holders at the rear of the chapel. Someone had stopped to pray and remember. I could feel the spirits of the Friars still watching. Outside in the rose garden, I saw a sundial that told me the time. Almost noon by the shadow's mark. The dial, which had been keeping time for three hundred years, was a square marble slab with smaller squares carved into its face that reminded the friars what activity to perform at what time of day. No one alive now would attend to its message, but if they had been there, they should have been finishing up their midday meal. The mission bell was due to ring. Time for prayer and contemplation. Then work tilling the fields and gardens.
As we left the mission grounds, I saw a bobcat crouched by the side of the road, sleek, wary. It watched us roll past slowly, but didn't run back into the woods. A very special sighting--these cats never appear during the day and certainly don't stand to gaze at passing cars. I've seen one other bobcat in my life. A quick glimpse as one darted through the trees in the Texas hill country at dusk.
We made it home safely. All in all, a good Christmas.
