Heading to work earlier than usual, I am struck by the fog of a San Francisco morning. It seems very much as smoke from a fire, although heavier somehow, as if the thing on fire was a large body of water, smoldering densely. That is, of course, very close to what is happening. Is it something about the light which makes it seem so magical? Or is it simply that I'm not adjusted to this early hour.
Waiting by the waterfront for work to start.
The gallery whre I work is near Fisherman's Wharf, a touristy neighborhood near North Beach. I'm not really sure who buys the eart and I find it hard to visualize, much as I find it hard to picture the Beats and artists of North Beach's past having anything in common with todays tourist throngs. It's beautiful, yes, and filled with enough of the Italian foods I remember from a sesmester abroad to earn it a place in my heart. But it's hard to reconcile with it's image, the one so many tourists stop at the City Lights bookstore in search of.
It's time now for work.
No comments:
Post a Comment