warm night in SF until the wind kicks up, chills the world to the bone.
ten-thirty at night and still so much left undone. my cat licks herself.
late night dishwashing. kitchen window over sink reflects a stranger.
pelican perched on polk street roof, wings spread out to dry.
hyde street cala foods closing, shelves almost bare like the end of the world.
friday morning mist. my dog and I share a fresh blueberry muffin.
thanksgiving night. a lone cable car ascends california street.
back for thanksgiving: my son and the mists clinging to the shaggy hills.