Where air is clear, views are far,
Can we finally talk, in a garden bar
Or bistro, of things that matter,
As the eucalyptus sways
And the white walls hold the day.
But it is here, in Santa Barbara,
With all her memories, her scars,
Where winds are soothing, sights unmarred,
Our words stay pretty, hearts on guard,
As if to sea was the only way
And there was nothing else to say.
Yet she is kind, this Santa Barbara,
Monterey pines against the stars,
Her smoky docks, bright bobbing spars
That make the grieving not so very hard.
There's only room in the café
For beauty, new blooms in soft array.
