The Bay moves in rhythm,

bridges arching like outstretched arms.

The hills roll steady, golden and green,

their peaks as sharp as ambition,

their valleys as soft as dreams.

In the morning, the fog wraps the world,

a veil hiding what’s yet to come.

But the sun cuts through,

and there it is—

the glint of possibility.

This is a land of milk and honey,

not sweet, but nourishing,

a balance of abundance and edge,

where roots dig deep,

and branches stretch toward endless skies.

Walking with purpose,

climbing hills to meet frontiers,

Beauty, movement, becoming.

A destination,

maybe a proving ground, 

A golden painted gate on the horizon –