Unintended Treasures

Woman and Sign, San Francisco | Mark Lindsay

The city, San Francisco or most any city, is full of small, fleeting treasures. Riches are everywhere—little vignettes of joy, intrigue, and ephemeral pleasure that compel me to click the shutter of my camera. Many are haphazard collections of life’s serendipity. Most affirm my belief that the cosmic powers that run this universe of ours have a very good sense of humor.

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A Drainpipe in Spring

The Corte Madera Drainpipe | Mark Lindsay

The well-worn path is like a college dorm room. Old wall posters become invisible after a couple of years, even the ugliest of them. So too do the homely sights along my daily walks. Telephone poles, street signs—even abandoned tires in the local flood canal—they all melt away with repeated sightings. Mostly this is a good thing. When I was in college, there were some truly butt-ugly posters around. Grateful Dead fans, you know what I mean. And along with that omnipresent Deadhead skull of my youth, my selective vision has made a few power transformers simply disappear from sight. The human mind is a wondrous thing.

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Two Men and a Shadow

Two Men and a Shadow, Campo Santo Stefano | Mark Lindsay

Venice is a place of shifting perspective. Nothing is fixed about the place, nothing is permanent. It changes and transforms with the crossing of every bridge and the winding of every alley. Crystalline sunshine turns to pearly fog in a moment. Shadows sneak along, tides flow in and then out. Low water becomes high and then low and then high again. Deserted streets jam up with crowds then become deserted once again. Tensions build and then relax. Pay attention in Venice! Things will surely change within moments.

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Relief from Suburbia

Larkspur Palms #6 | Mark Lindsay

It was one of those deep sleeps that is rare for me these days. I awoke not quite knowing where I was. Moving my eyes from side to side, I sat up. The ambient noise of a Monday morning told me that the rest of the world was already doing its thing. That meant that I had to get up. Planting my feet upon the floor, my grogginess slowly gave way to a nagging, low-level grumpiness.

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The Tire of Corte Madera

Tire with Reflections | Mark Lindsay

I've blogged about this tire before. The damned thing is hard to ignore. It sits in a flood-control canal near our home, submerged in brown muck. As if it were a piece of urban art, it changes with the time of day and the level of the tide. I'd like to think that the thoughtless person who tossed it there may have had art on his mind. But, this is unlikely. It is a hapless landmark made beautiful only by a fertile imagination. It is the Tire of Corte Madera.

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