After driving 362 miles
down Highway 1 in a rented
Camero, we stopped in the suburbs
of some coastal California town.
We followed hand written
signs on white poster board
that read Yard Sale
to a newer development, cookie
cutter houses with white vinyl
siding on cookie cutter lawns.
Arid. One lone table on
folding legs, also white, standing
on the white concrete driveway.
Women’s shoes of all types,
size 7, lined up underneath, the only
shade to be found. Sun in late
February is soothing. A Hispanic
woman smiled at me from the porch,
walked over. I smiled back
and searched the table for anything
I could want. “How much?” I held
a pink woven bracelet with
a metal plate. “50 cents,”
her accented reply. I gave her
two quarters and turn. Back
to the car. Buckle up. Bracelet
cool in my hand, cool
on my wrist. Metal plate read
Peace. We stayed on the back roads.