No longer are there any structures on Bair Island, a flat, 3 mile round island now dedicated by the state of California to the revival of wetlands territory. All that remains are the occasional rotted, desiccated wooden dock-posts and the crystalized tires that long ago sank in salt waters that are no more, now represented only by crystallized piles of salt that sparkle in the sunlight like a road of topaz or yellow diamonds. Along the edges of the crystallized streambeds, there are curious, tubelike formations that are vertically clustered and which could be easily referred to as "Salt Bones", the exact same size as a human femur. In September, these areas are enchanting, with plenty of sun and wasps, and the near-blinding sparkle of the carpet of salt that is the streambed.
On the day of my visit to Bair Island, I had a passing, seemingly "random" thought of regretting that I was never breast-fed as a baby. I took the hike and explored some of the dried-up creek beds, photographing the crystalline marvels that were to be viewed there, when, upon leaving the streambed, I found a broken glass ornament that clearly resembled a breast. Just a meaningless coincidence or maybe a moment of synchronicity, or objective chance? Also of coincidential interest is that the neighboring island just so happens to look like a breast, with a very prominent nipple making conact with Bair Island. I only made this visual interpretation when seeing the map, after being there. Perhaps a better poetic explanation of these glittery paths are that they are made of milk, instead of diamonds?
But as I departed that day, I looked down those glowing diamond runways with a serendipitous feeling of tranquility and poetic satiety.