Sometimes I think of the land as it stretches around me, as it spreads across this desert , up across the Tehachapis, down the incline into Bakersfield and beyond.
I can feel it extend itself toward northern California.
It ripples across the gentle hills and those agricultural plains at the center of this land.
I sometimes feel like a bird floating northward, looking down at rough, rocky edges of those hills, at knotted oaks and shrubbery and traces of water, unseasonable. Usually it’s dry stream beds.
It’s the water I like to imagine.
I can feel it, even hear it.
Waters moving soundlessly across the valley floors, dark, through central California. Waters seeping under the ground.