the beginning of summer.


We’re meant to leave San Francisco Sunday night but stay until early Monday morning. It’s been a quick, hot trip north and S and I are both so tired Sunday night we can barely keep our eyes open over dinner. We drove back that morning from Napa and hit a wall of grey that welcomed us back to the city. S took a video over the bridge I almost ran a red light watching the GPS lead us to my brother and his wife’s new house.

Every time I visit San Francisco I find something else I love about it. It’s like an alien planet in its beauty—so impossible to understand someplace so magical could exist on our world. We take a long, long walk through Land’s End and have margaritas and eggs at Cliff House. S and I go in the camera obscura there and watch the waves from inside the dark, quiet room.

Nobody knew any card games easy enough to play after two bottle of wine so I suggested Bullshit, and S won in a sweeping victory. We were all in bed by ten.

It felt so much like the beginning of summer—the real, heavy start of summer—even though San Francisco is always so chilly.

I woke up in the middle of the night from a dream about plane crashes and pilot error and when we took off from the airport later that morning, I looked for the wreckage of the plane. I think it’s a good thing I couldn’t see it.








photographs taken with a Canon 60D

in San Francisco, California. 


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