My wife and I climbed Cowles Mountain to watch the sun go down over the Pacific a few days ago.

We were not alone there. Others had come to the top of the mountain to watch the sun go down. Everyone acted nonchalant, but nervousness evident in the motions of their bodies and eyes revealed that each had come for a reason, if one can call it a reason. Each came to touch the stone at the top of the mountain. Each came to watch the sun leave. Many come every day. Others come early in the morning to watch the sun return. Each gazes over the land and to the ocean beyond and into the sky above. Each touches the stone.

The layer of fog along the coast was so thick that the sun faded from view before it descended to the horizon. It happens that way sometimes. The evening wind was cold, even though the time is August. The sky was gray and starless. We descended the mountain by flashlight. The night haze blurred the rocks and contours of the trail. The side of the mountain was quiet except for the sound of our careful feet. The others had left by other paths. Each wandered back into the city that surrounds the base of the mountain.

What happens on Cowles Mountain is resistance to time. What happens in the city is evolution. What happens on Cowles is a returning and a starting over.