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 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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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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A Ride Home

The City from a Ferry Seat | Mark Lindsay

On the ferry ride into San Francisco I could hardly contain myself. The morning air was brisk and the low light golden as I ran from side to side in the boat, searching for the best photos to make. I must have driven the other, more placid passengers crazy as I walked past them a hundred times. There was simply too much to see. The day and my disposition were fresh and I was getting overstimulated.

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A Camera and New Mornings

New Morning in Chinatown | Mark Lindsay

Optimism is not born naturally to me with each sunrise. I've never been a morning person nor shall I ever be one. It takes a good hour for the creaky bones and foggy head to allow in the rays of hopefulness. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and grumble at the cats as I lift myself out of the tomb of sleep. I slip into my slippers and shuffle my way to the kitchen. The coffee pot draws my attention before all else. I eagerly await the sound of boiling water and the first sip of the warming elixir. I gulp and then sigh. No, a morning person I shall never be.

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