Once again tonight, I wandered up the hill as the sun went down.
Leaving my treehouse cocoon, barefoot again, feeling the stones and the prickles.
The fog rolled in.
Vulnerable, heart cracked open, yawning open, trying not to slam it closed again like the Pied Piper’s mountain.
Trying to just breathe, and be, in my raw open state.
Meandering off the track, under the oak trees. Sitting, just sitting among the sharp dry leaves.
Listening.
Knowing I have no answers.
Wondering how and why I got here. Fifty-two, far from my family and the home of my youth. Second marriage over.
Looking up through the branches of the sacred oak.
Breathing.
Being.
Yet yearning.
This is how it feels.
such wild love 
I had to google Topanga the other day. What an awesome place! Well it certainly sounds like it. Lots of history and vibrancy from the sounds of it. I see your photos and read your stories and it makes me want to go there and hike and watch out for rattlesnakes!
Topanga is a really special place. After 15 years of driving through it, I am delighted to now be a resident. It feels like home to me.