I’ve been in San Francisco for the past 10 days, my first long visit since we left 17 years ago.
Each morning I’ve had the privilege of watching fog creep over the cityscape, curl around buildings, and disperse. The photographs here are taken from our Airbnb rental in Twin Peaks.
I like fog because it accentuates the mystery of life. Sometimes there are things right before our eyes that we can’t see right away. If we wait awhile, most will become clear. I remind myself of the gift of fog when I am feeling impatient. Here is the view that inspired the poem I wrote yesterday:
Thoughts on a Foggy Morning
White paws uncurl
around a hillside park,
farther with each breath,
its body stretches,
until it is no more
than a whisker.
What in you requires patience to heal?