You know in ancient times it was all underwater.
The sandstone studded with fossil shells,
stromatolites in the Santa Monicas
betray the seascape these mountains once were.
The old folks, the ones still with us, will tell you
when all of this was nothing but orange groves
And here I am again, cradled by the rocks,
looking over the hills into the ocean of my youth—
familiar ranch houses on dusty acres
nestled between alien four-story luxury condos.
So this is After, this is the Return.
I have no idea what it means to change,