Being Here

It happens by itself

Bright green feathers shining brilliantly from the top of Russian Hill…

I remember the joys of eating strawberry sherbet,

And look at the pelicans flying like miniature aircraft over the bay.

The estrangement of our immigrants,

Our impatient and selfish times,

The dark skinned homeless guy proudly watching the green grass at Allyn Park:

I ponder these things.

The summer day begins with the fog cascading and swooshing through the streets,

An afternoon passes sitting on a bench at the dog park talking politics,

A Saturday at the beach is celebrated as I eat “eggs in jail”* at Outerlands.

 

Pictures from a few mindful days in my beloved San Francisco…

*”Eggs in jail” is a zany breakfast creation of sour crusty bread fried in butter, with two exquisite (fried) eggs inside a perfectly round whole in the center … all of this topped with beautiful thick brown bacon.  Only in San Francisco!

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