Venturing Out From Bernal Heights

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The morning was shrouded in - what else - fog. The whole day was an undulation. Experience the breadth of the word. Topology. Contoured lines. Every perspective was skewed. Nothing was close. We stretched our legs.

From Mission Street, we went to Delores park. Kids gathered on the lawn out front of the high school. It was textbook.

Cider. Then, lifted up and down to China beach. Cold winds and the bridge was still in tatters of wispy bay fog. Cliffs melted: trees, juniper rugs, scree, to boulders. The ocean was grey to green. I could hardly stand it for the cold. So, we rose on a string of pearled houses. Blue iridescence spread out in the bay. Sunlight hit the magic angle. We saw depth and shallow in the water, or maybe they were kelp beds sheltering mermaid's purses and skate eggs. And finally, the old orange sentinel was uncovered, burnished, glowing.

Jasmine tea. Burhma and Russia. Peru as the night went purple. Tart purple wine, too. Hominy. Ceviche.

There was a reunion before bed with belly laughs, teasing the kitten, Shakes, and snuggling until it turned mean. Then, lights out. Soften. Let the fog roll back in.

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