A Shimmering Morning in San Francisco

Reflections in a Salsicceria, San Francisco | Mark Lindsay

Each city has its own way of wrapping itself in light. It's as if the places we inhabit were lit from within. Venetian light is famous for its pearlescent quality; its mystery, and intrigue. It is the light of Titian and Tintoretto, of medieval spies and foggy nights. There is no one set form to this light, it has many variations to its misty theme. But, once you see it, you know it forever.

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Alone in a Morning

Alone in a Morning | Mark Lindsay

The world is at its best when it is nestling itself into the night's sleep. Second to that are the first stirrings of morning, before the crush of humanity has a chance to break the spell. A summer morning in San Francisco is particularly satisfying. Come July a thick, fog blanket shrouds the city in its daybreak which makes San Francisco the most silent of summer cities. This is especially true when one is away from the main arteries that feed the caffeine-starved commuters into downtown. A walk along the side streets and into the parks we find the morning vignettes that define the foggy, San Francisco dawn.

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The Green Light

Traffic Signal in Fog | Mark Lindsay

Dragging myself out, I walk in a daze out into a cold fog and down to the park. Wiping the sleep from my eyes I veer off the path into the wet-sponge grass. My feet instantly get soaked, affirming my theory that once your feet are wet, the day is shot. It's time to go back to bed. I feel the sogginess seep into my new, white socks. I look down at my old, sad sneakers, thinking to myself that they are past their prime. I feel like an alien on a planet of someone else's choosing. I shrug it off—not enough coffee I suppose. Then I look up. Something is different.

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Grabbing the Fog

Town Park Fog | Mark Lindsay

Daylight Saving Time plays tricks come October. The mornings are dark long beyond when my body clock says "Morning!". My brain tells me to get up. My eyes say something different. I don't like to move clocks forward and backward. It feels like I'm trying to cheat the cosmos or mold it into some kind of seasonal convenience. It never works. October mornings are dark forever.

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New Mystic Morning

New Winter Morning, Venice | Mark Lindsay

There is nothing more optimistic than the new morning. The air is refreshed, the earth renewed. When one is traveling, a morning walk alone in a foreign land is best part of any day. Winter mornings are particularly precious; the sun low and stingy, red and gold light cascading into deep shadows of cobalt blue. Morning, and all is possible. Briskness alerts us—the new world is ours.

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