Hawk Hill

A guest post from Brandi of Not Your Average Ordinary. Oh my, you are in for a treat today. You know those rare blogs that never cease to surprise you? On one day you'll find something inspiring to look at, the next, a journey through a dream, on another, practical and lovely ideas for work... That's what you'll find on Brandi's blog. To cinch the deal, this lady is also thoughtful and sweet. All of which makes me very happy to announce: Brandi is RIGHT HERE today. Hooray!

It was a place of fog and mist. On occasion, the sun broke through long enough to see the city that lay below, but this place belonged to the fog.

The path away from the iconic bridge and city led through a tunnel. The wind whipped around, as if time itself were being erased. All sounds were caught up and brushed into a corner, never to escape past the archways.

There, on the other side, were woods and an undulating landscape that looked like the western coast of Ireland: green, cliffs, and wide ocean.

The road wound in an almost dizzy way, but it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t the road that was important; it was the fact that it hugged the coast, that it lead from one gorgeous scene to the next, that it was the place to watch the sun dip into the water. This place was one moment of a long journey.

This place is Hawk Hill, just north of San Francisco. It was one of the many stops on my long road trip from the West Coast to the East Coast. And it was where I fell in love with northern California. (I, of course, hadn’t even seen Napa yet.) The unexpectedness of it all caught me in my chest, and it still hasn’t let me go. Places between two worlds like this one are truly something special.

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