the "Green Flash", a back story to a poem

The “Green Flash”, a back story

Years ago in San Diego, I was sitting on the patio of a legendary bar and grill, visiting with a longtime friend. The place, as I knew it, was called “World Famous”. Over decades, that name, born in irony and aspiration, had proven prescient.

There, you could be old or young, famous in the world or only among friends, local or tourist, rich or just scrapping by till "your ship came in". There, the smiles came easy, the drinks quick and strong and the grilled fish or morning eggs perfect for the time. All of it together seemed somehow right and healthy, the staff wry and quick, the waitresses beautiful too, naturally so.

The creator and owner of “World Famous” had just moved on and the new owner had changed the name to the “Green Flash”. I asked my friend, who had worked and run the place for years, why had the new owner changed the name? What was the “Green Flash”, a reference to a cartoon character? He acted surprised that I did not know.

He told me that from the tables that fronted the boardwalk, the beach and west horizon, once in a great while, as the sun set, it would “flash” and turn green. At sunset, patrons who had heard of, or already seen the “Green Flash”, would turn and watch the horizon, just in case.

I admitted that my time there had been spent mostly in the bar, set in the back, or at brunch nursing my body through a “morning after”. Still skeptical, I asked him if this was just another version of “snipe hunting”, set to reel people in for the purpose of having some fun. My friend was adamant that it was a real phenomenon but even after a few cocktails, I was nowhere near believing him.

Years later, on the central coast, just north of Santa Barbara, I hiked some hills up to the top of a giant rock outcropping. Once there, I looked up to the coastal range and back to the ocean and the islands. I took my time there and remembered important things. Then, energized by the countless shades of green crossing the hills and the bright blooms of mustard and yellowing green grass, I trekked down towards the ocean.

I moved easily between the sage and chaparral and through the tall grass, until I reached a tunnel and creek that ran together under the coast highway. I ducked my head and slowly entered the tunnel. In the dark and damp, the water and I traveled together, onward to the light and sand.

Late in the day, as the sun drew low, I watched the waves rise and fall and the pelicans soar and dive, just one more time. Tired and content, I hiked a dirt path up to a railroad trestle. As I had many times before and right there as a boy, I stopped to watch the sunset. Rising from the sea, fresh white clouds were forming on the horizon. They took on many colors, mixing and changing while the sun slowed its descent and came to rest upon the water.

Then it happened, the “Green Flash”. It was beauty squared and it lasted a long, long time. The sun’s whole self, held fast on the horizon’s edge, on stage, color to color, turquoise to emerald, breath to breath, ever brilliant, it did not set, instead the earth just seemed to turn away.

In awe, I found my voice slowly rising, from a whisper to a roar, one that echoed through a lifetime and the arroyo below. I smiled a grateful smile. I had just been reminded that there is yet, still beauty in the trillions, by trillions not yet seen.