The low growling guttural sound of a hot rod cars muffler rumbles just behind me along the twisty windy road that hugs the cliffs along the mighty Pacific Ocean, it is another one of God's secret places I like to hang out at. It is a place that is California cool, where Ivory white and ash gray colored seagulls land on the hood of your car when you arrive to watch the sun tanned surfers do battle with the incoming breaking waves. Today is another calm and peaceful day in this Empyrean coastal dream of an area and the hauntingly tender sounds of somber crashing waves against the ragged cliffs deadens my mind. Out here I think of nothing, and nothing thinks of me as synchronized repetitive waves continue to crash one upon one, and the mindless observers lulled into a sense a calm, haven't a clue.

From the underwater graveyard there are magnificent granite boulder stones that rise well above the oceans crest, reaching towards the clear blue sky. Rising out of the somewhat tepid foamy ocean from the depths of the ocean floor the aged boulders are shaded colors of speckled granite gray with touches of black that are darker than the darkest of night. On top of the boulders sit the sun tanning Sea gulls who position themselves so that the incoming wind easily blows aerodynamically over them. Big rocks to me are like prisoners of war, for they both have weathered many a tormenting storm and they stand as testimonials about willingness to survive even the worst of situations. The giant rocks are always fondly remembered as landmarks of natures beautiful hand here at Sunset Cliffs, and today the relentless Pacific Ocean water has an aquamarine greenish blue color with a touch of violent viridian thrown in. The ocean foam that appears from the incessant pounding waves lingers around after each set of waves disappears. It is like a maddened painter's canvas who cries out for understanding in hope of admiration and acceptance of their unconventional Art piece.

Palm trees dance and sway like lovers at the dance of the coastal breezes, and in the front yards of multi million dollar homes that are across the street I notice that their tiled drive ways are filled with classic cars like Mercedes Benz, Porsche, and BMW that are secured behind walls of imported stone and sculptured gated fencing. Pillow like clouds seem to be floating everywhere above me in the cool breeze and the fresh oxygen fill my lungs with the salty innocence of purity. Golden sandy beaches can be viewed all the way down the ragged coast a bit away from here, and weekend warrior tourists clamber about the elevated rocky shore line cliffs pushing the limits of gravity near the fragmented edge.

I like coming here once in a while because it takes me back to my early thoughts of how I originally envisioned San Diego, the days when I used to think that everything in California was totally coastal cool. Just a few cars up from me on the outcropping asphalt viewing area there sits a really cool well preserved Volk's Wagon Van. Someone once told me that Volk's Wagon means the peoples car in German. Well this whacked out surfer guy that owns this classic has painted a bunch of flowers and peace signs all over his surfer van, perhaps it is the peoples van of the eternally stoned hippie. Wild Poppy flowers bloom profuse behind the van on the cliffs edge of sandy shore as Van Gogh Yellow miniature bush Sunflowers pin prick the coastal canvas. There are a few lots that are still available to the highest bidder that sit quiet in abandonment waiting for their new owners to arrive and build another Gem by the sea. Down this special street the Pt. Loma home owners sit quietly counting their money as property values rise on a daily basis like the incoming tide. They have grown accustomed to their beautiful views that they enjoy on a daily basis, they have also grown accustomed to the traffic that builds up as the mighty magnetic Pacific Ocean attracts large crowds at sunset, like drinkers to a popular watering hole.

The Yellowish Ochre colored feet of the Sea Gulls on the hood of my blue Alfa Romeo Spider convertible temporarily hypnotizes me with wonderment. The Sea Gull turns around and walks towards the front windshield of my car and starts to peck at the front window. What do you want I think to myself as I look back on with disbelief. The surfer exits his surfer van wearing a rubberized spring surf suit and tosses his bread heel piece of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich towards the Gulls. They stop looking at me and take to flight in the warm winds of change and make a bee line towards the van that they seem to know like a long lost friend. Dive bomber Gulls barrel out of the sky like an invading army with no remorse as they begin to argue about whose piece of bread that was. One Gull chases around another Gull who has the enormous sandwich heel in his over stuffed mouth and is screaming the whole time. The surfer looks back over at me and smiles then laughs as he straps his Velcro surf board leash to his ankle and then jumps off the cliff with board in hand into a safe ocean landing area. He just simply disappeared like the sun that sinks into the ocean, vanished, and I wished I could join him.

The "Beach Boys" greatest hit's masterpiece is now blasting on my CD player and it can't get any better than this I think to my self. I grab a stick of Wrigley's chewing gum and begin to chomp in cadence to the phenomenal music my mind is enjoying. The golden fiery sun is beating down with a big hammer today and my skin is beginning to slightly crisp. The Gulls who have realized that there is no more food left have now returned to the hood of the car, for it provides warmth to their feet and perhaps it enables them to be the pain in the asses that they really are. Oh what the hell, it's their neighborhood not mine.

The crazed surfer who so valiantly jumped off the cliff in a last act of defiance is way out there now. He reminds me of a tee shirt that I once saw in which a mouse on the ground is shooting his middle birdie finger up into the sky as a Eagle is coming barreling in from out of the sky to eat him. Oh, to be young and stupid once again, how I miss those days. An hour goes bye like the blink of the eye and the sun is beginning to set at Sunset Cliffs. There are a blistering amount of color changes going on every second in the sky as my senses are overcome with unbelievable wonderment. The Sea Gulls have made their way back out to the giant bolder tops of the granite rocks perched out in the ocean just off the coast. The sun is now disappearing into the deep blue sea which is now reflecting a rainbow of colors off here shiny beautiful face. How I long to kiss thee, my beautiful California sunset. I will keep you fresh in my mind for another day, and I will always miss what you really mean to me. You are to me what California is all about. You are to the out of town folk what they wish their city could possibly have. But most importantly, you will always be the one and only, Sunset Cliffs.

WRITTEN BY GREGORY MICHAEL MANESS D.B.A. GREGOART
REWRITTEN FROM THE EARLY CALIFORNIA MEMOIRS OF 1992
COPYRIGHT 2001 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE "SUNSET CLIFFS" PAINTING WAS COMPLETED IN © 2001 BY GREGO