There’s a magic in this slender peninsula that lies beyond the borders of cities or towns. Beyond the hustle and bustle of commerce and development. That sits on the edge. The untouched. The yet to be disturbed by the heavy hand of man.

Here, the coyote hunt small prey. Range cattle forage outside of fences. Red-tailed hawks and osprey soar over land and sea, eyes pinned in search of their next meal.

Tall cardon reach their stately trunks every upward, aside paloverde, paloblanco, creosote and straggley cerote. Random water holes, estuaries and narrow canyon pools remind us that water is still the essence, especially in the dry dry desert.

It’s in these lands my soul finds a freedom, a sense of expansion. In the desert, one must look with refined eyes to ferret a tiny flower, a scampering beetle, the tracks of lizard and quail. A roadrunner zooms past. A kingfisher calls from a tree branch. A flotilla of pelicans glide across the face of a wave.

Light from the rising sun reflects in my face. Home in the fierce dry landscape. Home in the magic.