In the old days, I remember a wind that would blow down through the canyons. It was a hot wind, called a Santana. And it carried with it the smell of warm places. It blew the stongest before dawn across the Point.
My friends and I would sleep in our cars and the smell of the off-shore wind would often wake us. And each morning we knew this would be a special day.
Big Wednesday, opening monologue.
Tag: Surfing Words