The Point Reyes National Seashore just north of San Francisco
Francesca and I are now relaxing in the Bay Area. We are far from South Florida where The Miami Herald -if it had a police blotter- would be filled with sad, horrific, stories. In quiet Point Reyes, California, it's different. The affluent town an hour northwest of San Francisco reported last week in the Point Reyes Light,
-Friday, a wallet was lost, young cow was standing by the road, and someone heard a woman cry out, "Put me down. You're making it worse!"
-Saturday, Homeless people were sleeping on the public tennis courts and a car lost a wheel.
-Sunday, A man was seen sitting at a roadside with his head in his hands.
-Monday, Three bicycles needed attention and a burglar broke into a house to steal a jar of change.
-Tuesday, A car was poorly parked on Terrace Street.
-Wednesday, Deputies questioned a man who said he was writing a letter to his deceased father.
-Friday, Someone reported a distressed, barking dog and another who growled when anyone approached him.
This paper's police reports seem like a poetic rendition of Our Town.
I'm going to a most unusual town in northwest Nevada tomorrow with my son's, Ian and Dylan. We look forward to the week-long grand party called "Burning Man". Francesca is passing again on the dust-driven fantasy. She will be exploring the exotic Point Reyes National Seashore with her older sister, Carmen. They are calling their week together, "Burning Sisters".
You meet all kinds of burning sisters in the Nevada desert