She looms over the humming freeway,
conducting the symphony of cars,
trucks, trailers, and vans
as they bump and bop down the 5.
Her slope purple in the hazy light of
the October morning,
She stands out against the
bluebird sky.
I point out of my window
at her as we pass,
nearing our exit.
You kiss me;
she watches.
We exit the freeway at Oso,
she stands even
bigger than before.
I see every crack,
fissure, birthmark
on her almost-pristine face.
Dew glimmers on
her peak as we turn,
I show you the
little tendrils, shimmering
with Southern California style.
As we drive down the avenue, sunlight
turns the parkway gold,
but she contrasts it all in a
wistful shade of purple.
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