Layers

   As I was walking a few days ago I noticed a patch of asphalt where the surface smoothness had been compromised, forming a depression which revealed the material below. Within this area there was a small puddle formed by the rains of a few days earlier, though receded a bit from the day before when I first noticed it. 

   In the picture below, it appears like what you are seeing could be an aerial view of a lake, but what interested me (and perhaps it looked quite different in person than it appears in the picture) was not this, but were the layers created by the revelation through the damaged surface, and the resulting creation of another surface by the collected rainfall. 

   I don't know if other people can feel the changes that occur through the passage of events, but I have a really hard time understanding time and its' supposed passage in a physical way, so seeing its' evidence, as in the photo, serves as both an illustration and proof that it actually happens.

  

Proof positive?

Floating leaves

   I took this picture yesterday during my morning walk, and was struck by the amount of leaves floating on my beloved Stow Lake. The leaves were in the northern most part of the lake, near one of the two areas where I would normally see turtles sunning themselves during the warmer months.
   The way that the leaves floated there made me think of animals that had perhaps perished below. Maybe it was their grave markers that had floated to the surface to remind us up here that they were no longer with us.
   As I write this, I realize that it may sound that I may be a little focused on death to see the leaves in this way, but the scene didn't strike me as negative, more of a somber reminder of lives lived and now gone.

Fall colors

   My wife Fernanda and I were recently in Portland, Oregon for an extended weekend vacation. It rained a lot when we were there, which was nice to experience as a break from parched San Francisco, where we live. It's said to rain quite a bit in Portland, and one can see it in the lushness of the vegetation; I think you could confidently call it a leafy city. I imagine that the plants and trees are happy to be there.
   From a previous visit and a smartphone weather application that I check regularly, I knew that Portland has a wider temperature range than San Francisco (I assume that most places do), and while I understood that would certainly mean hotter summers (which I don't like), I didn't think about how the colder and warmer temperatures would affect the color of the leaves.
   So, on our first day here, we took the TriMet number 20 bus eastbound on Burnside to walk around a neighborhood that we read might be interesting, the Kern district, and while getting a bit lost, came upon some quaint, quiet streets bursting with fall colors. There were oranges, greens and yellow ochre leaves on the trees and ground, and although the skies were grey and overcast, I could not imagine the scene being lit any better.
   Although it didn't occur to me consciously at the time, being in the midst of all these colors seemed both very new, while also familiar to me. I spent many years in New York City, my hometown, admiring the richness of colors like these before the frigid winters would set in, but have seen very little of this during the last ten years, living in San Francisco, which has about two seasons. Seeing such beautiful colors again felt more like I was seeing something in person that I had only seen in pictures before than something that I had just not seen in a while.
   It's amazing that the memories of my first forty two years of life can seem so distant, but at times one day to the next can feel like that too. I know that I cannot expect all days that I live to be great, or maybe even good, but I hope that I can at least have some beautiful moments of vibrancy on occasion during them.

Just one kind of vibrant moment

Ocean Beach

   This is exactly how I like the beach; empty, except for me.
   I can't recall why I seemed to be the only person here when I took this picture, as it was quite clear (no fog), which usually signifies warmer temperatures and more people than when it's windy and cool, which is the norm here. It was probably early on a Friday morning, and I'm guessing that it wasn't as comfortable as it appears below, although I don't recall the weather specifics. I like it when it's cool and a bit windy in the western part of San Francisco, because those conditions generally keep people away from the beach who don't go regularly, and also usually means that there are foggy conditions, conditions which I find beautiful and a bit mysterious, and have written about previously in this blog.
   The expansiveness of the horizon (where my eyes convince me that the sky meets the ocean), and seeing the sandy beach stretch off into the distance, makes me feel like less confined by the world I live in.

Graffiti

   I took this picture yesterday during my morning walk around Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park. I had seen this graffiti the day before, and was both bothered and interested by it, though mostly bothered. The graffiti covered an area of the northeast section of the lake, and was sprayed on a concrete curb, some wood logs which enclose a small garden area (visible partially on the left side of the picture), and on the bench seen below. I find it incredible that someone would choose such a beautiful, peaceful place to 'tag', but also know the feeling of being clouded as to how my actions might affect others. On one particular area the words "high as fuck" can be seen; I find this statement both telling and informative.

   The interest that I find in the graffiti, and the reason why I took some pictures there and am writing this blog entry, is in the meeting space of this very personal act of defacement and the very green place where it occurred. I find something beautiful in the feel of these two seemingly contradictory acts of creation (Stow Lake  and Golden Gate Park where very much created, built many years ago on very un-green sand dunes). Although the graffiti seems at first to be out of place (maybe because it is new to the area), on second thought its' status changes; it's not as if it belongs there, but more like it doesn't not belong there.

   In the picture below, the writing seems so perfectly placed, so correct, it's as if it is describing the scene beyond it. 

Orange ball

   I took the photograph at the bottom of the page a couple of days ago during a walk in Golden Gate Park and was drawn to what appears to be a dog toys' beautiful and vivid colors. I had seen it the day before, but did not photograph it until the next day. The weather had been unusual those days here in San Francisco, being both cool and clear (cool usually means foggy), reminding me of the fall season that I experienced every year growing up on the east coast. When I think about it, I recall with warmth the feel of those cool days, sandwiched as they were between the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter, and in particular I miss the spectrum of colors that the leaves would turn before falling from the trees and crisply crunching as I walked over them.
   There is no fall season here in San Francisco to speak of, so when the weather cools a bit or a strong wind has blown, I relish in walking on the leaves, even though the color variations are minimal and the crunching under my feet barely discernible. Many of the trees here do not become bare at any time of the year due to the mild climate, but the ones that do look vulnerable, appearing more sensitive and in tune with their environment.
   So as I think more about the ball in the picture below and why it's colors resonate for me, I am reminded that I usually am not a big fan of the orange-blue color combination, as it reminds me of the old Shea Stadium in New York, which I would pass by car occasionally over my years spent in New York, and whose exterior (featuring the colors below) was perhaps the ugliest architectural exterior I have ever seen in person. Despite the Shea Stadium association, or perhaps triumphantly overcoming and replacing it, this special ball has helped to remind me of some beautiful memories of my hometown, and the season that I must do without because of the mostly even, though lovely weather in my not so new home.

The original Shea Stadium exterior

The new and improved orange-blue association

Nest

   The nest below has been perched in this tree for the last six months or so. I remember seeing it being built by what seemed like multiple red-tailed hawks (it was definitely at least one), and when it was being constructed, the builder or builders seemed quite hurried and determined in their construction, yet I have yet to see any activity in it since that time, nor have I ever seen any chicks near it.
   Every day, when I walk the loop where the nest is, I pass it three times, and although I no longer expect to see any activity there, I often marvel at it's beauty, and sometimes think about it's apparently vacant status. It is so beautiful how this loose material has been put together in such a way that it has remained relatively unchanged since the time it was made, and although the lack of rain has, I imagine, contributed to its' longevity, I am still excited by how long it has lasted. It seems to me to be a reminder of the possibilities for beauty and creativity in the world that I live in, and I certainly need that reminder.