Summer Wind

Winter Fog, Venice | Mark Lindsay

The wind is howling this morning. It howled last night and for the three nights before that. Wind signals change. Something is blowing out and is being replaced by whatever is blowing in. By the time whatever is on the way actually arrives the wind will have wreaked its havoc. Broken planting pots, fallen garbage cans, branches and leaves are everywhere. This wind leaves behind the debris of change as it blows in something new. And I suspect that something new is the summer season.

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The Ghosts and a Ticking Clock

Fog at Fort Point | Mark Lindsay

Three weeks in Venice is hardly a long time. But, at the start it felt that way. I fooled myself with the illusion was that I'd be there forever—that I was there for good. But, three days later I found myself counting. I was secretly counting the days until the arrival of my sad departure. I shook this diabolical countdown off with a shudder. But, it didn't work. The little clock continued ticking away in my brain and then chimed in again the very next morning.

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Immersed

San Marco Fog | Mark Lindsay

It takes a week for the adrenaline to wear off. It takes longer than that for sting of jet lag to mellow. It takes time for one's ear warm to other languages. One's brain must sharpen to the constant calculation of currency exchange rates. But, once the body, mind, and soul convert to Italian it all changes. Life settles into the sweet cadence of life in Venice.

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My Foggy Friend

Foggy Meadow on Redwood Creek Trail

August in the Marin Headlands means a heavy dose of wet, white fog. It is my favorite time to hike here—a rare chance to climb way up into the sky. They say that the hills here were formed by the tensions of the San Andreas Fault. It is here that the invisible stress of Mother Earth is made visible for all to see. The hills are gentle reminders of the grumbling that's going on far below the surface. And with this strain and with this fog we're allowed to scrape the heavens. That's why I so love August in these Marin Headlands.

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Bad Light and a San Francisco Morning

Palace of Fine Arts on Foggy Morning | Mark Lindsay

The Golden Gate Bridge was shrouded in fog on a recent July morning. This pleased me as I drove across it, for it is my favorite way to see the bridge. Actually, I couldn't see very much of it on this summer day. The bridge was there but mostly invisible. My imagination was needed to complete the picture. The very best thing about the bridge is how it constantly changes in the light and weather. And the best bridge weather for the bridge is thick fog.

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