Thursday morning at Deetjen’s Big Sur Inn. We’re still in bed, in a rustic but very charming chalet. At 9:00 a.m. it is still as dark as dawn because we’re on the shadow side of the mountain in a forest of redwood trees. The only sound is the babble of the creek that flows past the chalet.
One of us comments on the sound: “It sounds like someone flushed a toilet and it won’t stop flowing.”
There’s a pause. The other replies, “On the other hand, the next time we hear a flowing toilet we’ll think it’s a creek in a redwood forest.”