I walk a toward the fishing pier to a road I previously thought was a dead end. At a certain point there is a security guard and a sign for authorized vehicles only. This is the road for the workers that maintain the bridge. I notice a bike path and ask if I may walk here. I get an ok from the guard and head up the hill. 

I am pretty much alone for most of my walk, and I admire the bridge from underneath. It reminds me of the erector set my brother had when we were kids. All the parts seem purposeful but also precarious. It is an impressive structure and feels otherworldly from this perspective. 

The hills are dry and exude a certain scent, hot brush that waits for rainy season. Is it the end of summer headed into fall or fall headed into winter? I have lost track, and seasons vary only slightly in these parts.  

I stop before the hill meets the top of the bridge and the cars roll by. I'm enjoying the landscape below, this flipped perspective. It is unusually quiet here. The city sits in the distance waving hello. I miss freely walking on its city streets, ducking into art museums, galleries and local coffee shops. I miss the spontaneous encounters with strangers and friends. I miss losing time because I am actively filling it, not for all the reasons that burden us now. 

A scantily clad man rushes into the ocean waves, fists up, boxing with the water. While submerged, he loses his pants for a bit. He comes out smiling and still boxing. I have no idea what this is about, but everyone finds their inner peace somehow. 

Dolphins leap at a short distance. Such is the magic that the ocean provides. Ravens squawk and gather in the morning sun. Happy to find them here, I wish to attend their party. A lone shoe has lost its business casual human. Walls along the fenceline are exuberantly painted. 

Above this beach, wealth takes a heavy sigh. This remarkable place is not theirs but belongs to all who step foot here. The bridge casts a shadow on the headlands, beaming bright but also capable of darkness.

Sand always reaches between my toes, no matter the height of my boots. 

When I encounter animals on my walks or in the world at large, I like to imagine we have an understanding, a feeling of mutual respect. I know the world has leaned heavy toward the greed and unquenchable thirst of humans, so I am in a sense just appeasing my own desires. 

Walking down the street I spot a deer checking me out, waiting to see my next move. As always, I step slowly and push the on button on my camera. The deer makes its way to a front yard garden which is nicely curated. Spending little time there, the deer sneaks behind a fence to a neighboring backyard. I want to follow but don't. I don't know the house inhabitants, after all. 

Two other deer prance down the road in my direction. Like the other, they are cautious around me and watch to see what I will do. Like before, the camera gets wielded. I am sure this moment exists more purely without documentation, but I am compelled to keep clicking. 

I watch as the two young deer find their way around a low fence to accompany their companion. My time is done here and I walk on. I turn back for a moment just to see them again, to send them a mental thank you. I hope they find the food they are foraging for and make their way back up the hill, away from us two legged lunkheads. 

During the pandemic it is more fun to walk where people are told not to, rather than on the designated paths. Of course everyone navigates toward the places that scream "walk here".  We have arrived with the intent of walking on this marked trail in the hopes that it is wide enough and sparse of people. It is pretty nice, but quickly I am distracted by painted structures up on the hill. 

We are on what was once military property and it is marked as such. It is not clear if the signs are new or just left behind out of laziness. No one pays them any mind. This area is now restored wetlands, hugging a new subdivision and cultural organizations that now occupy the base. It is a mash up of what was and what will become. It doesn't seem altogether comfortable in its current state of being. 

We find a gap in the fence that leads to the road up to where the painted structures are. This area is absent on the online map, just an unidentified blur. Graffiti covers every manmade surface here. Bunkers, dot the hill like small fortresses, apocalyptic homesteads. They are locked tightly, but I ponder if it is time to open them up again. In the US, we are in a surreal collective nightmare that we can't seem to shake ourselves out of. Insanity reigns free. Who knows what will happen next. 

But still, we voted early and with great hope, because small joys will become big ones one day soon. They have to. They need to. They will. Please vote!

The air was clean enough to go to the beach this morning. This is our constant cycle these days. Check the air quality, measure the covid risk, and decide the heatwave tolerance level. It is the 2020 disaster dance of west coast sanity seekers. We are mostly here for the environment after all. It is so strange to interact with it in this odd and dysfunctional way. Nevertheless, at the beach, contentment is found.  

The waves are raucous and surfers find solace in flowing with the push pull of the water. Salt drenches sun soaked skin of those who see the ocean as their second home, or maybe even their first. I grew up in the south near a river where, at the time, people dumped old refrigerators and used car parts. Sure, it was also pretty in certain areas, but it wasn't much more than a glorified creek. So, to me, the ocean has always seemed so grand. I realize I repeat this sentiment over and over again, but some things are well worth repeating.  

As the smoke clears for the morning, I head into San Francisco. I park on the end of California and venture up a hill that takes me to a golf course. In non-covid19 times I might have wandered deep in to explore what I could find on the carefully maintained grounds. Now, I follow the rules for reasons of safety and social distancing. The designated walking path takes me to the other side of the golf course where the land meets the water. The view is amazing and the depth of feeling it evokes could never be captured in pictures. Vividness of color (or lack of), beauty of composition, and luck of timing can never come close to expressing what happens in my gut when something touches me deeply. It can, however, be a reaction or retelling of what is seen, a new story that exists on a different plane of reality. 

Down the road are homes of great wealth. This is a unique world which is somewhat foreign to me. It is beautifully manicured, full of caretakers and builders. The facade needs constant maintenance. Walking through is free. I wonder who lives here and what their lives are like. A quick search reveals a few well known celebrities. I doubt I'll ever be their neighbor but no harm in pretending. And yes, this is a frivolous, empty kind of joy, but it is entertaining. 

Further in, I spot a sign that says "public beach". Of course, I have to follow it, and I land at China Beach. There is a road down which is wide enough for social distancing. There, I find a lone fisherman, a swimmer who obviously does not mind the cold water, and two young men enjoying the view from above. Beyond that, it is me and the birds. I feel gleeful, because in all my years living in the Bay Area, I had never been here. I had seen it from above, but just assumed it was inaccessible.

The Golden Gate Bridge stands tall in the distance, an icon of this joining of land and sea. Seagulls rest in the sand, only slightly hindered by my human presence. I hop over the water that reaches the rocks to see the other side of the cove. I am filled with delight and know this is exactly where I need to be at this second, on this day, in this very strange and difficult year. 

It takes all that I have to stay positive as California is burning, but it is nearly impossible to escape the inevitable at this point. Every time the wind blows, my heart jumps. When the heat rises, my stomach turns. When the electricity disappears I wilt in worry. These are the days of the apocalypse. Glimmers of hope filter in through the cracks. Watching the horrible that is the news creates an abyss that is hard to crawl out of. Photography will continue to be my refuge as long as I let it. A pandemic is one thing, but piling on raging fires is more than most have capacity to digest. Our "go bags" are ready and for now we are safe. Others are not so lucky. My heart breaks for them. My heart breaks for this beautiful state. 

The heat rolls in, pushing away the cooling fog. Rolling blackouts take pressure off an aging power grid but it comes unannounced. I edit these photos outside tonight. Sounds of crickets, birds and distant voices fill the air. Someone is singing. 

I look up and a young fox is staring at me, just a couple feet away. He waves his head back and forth to look past me, seeking safe passage. Something dead, like a mouse, hangs out of his mouth. He is not much bigger than a cat, so possibly new to solo outings such as this. 

Last night I could not sleep because of the heat. Our cat meowed at what I believed was his distant pal I like to call, "Rascal Cat". However, this animal did not have a bell, like the bird hunter normally wears. I then saw one more, and eventually six cat like critters. These were young kits not cats, probably the offspring of the bigger fox that visited a few weeks back. 

I imagine this young one in the yard to be my new friend, fast and furious. But I know I am just an unfortunate obstacle in the quest for dinner. He eventually turns and exits by crawling under the fence. I return to editing pictures I took just before the temperature got hotter than blue blazes. 

Grass coats my boots. I wore them knowing I would be avoiding any designated pathway in favor of what lies adjacent. I remember that as a child, I cut the grass barefoot. The cuttings slowly gathered between my toes. I ducked to push the mower under young trees as junebugs flew into my forehead. When my brother mowed the yard, he talked to himself loudly. I could hear him outside through the closed windows. He seemed happy, so I never bothered to ask him what he was talking about. 

Today I am close to the beach but do not linger for that is a popular destination. I long to lazily linger again, to lollygag among the masses. Maskless runners pass by as I hug the trees (not in the literal sense, but in terms of my close proximity). 

I wander into the private part of the parking lot, where I know the great blue herons nest. I have missed the spring when they are in the tops of the trees. I still am lucky to see two fishing, one in the marina and one in the pond across the street. 

At the tourist destination close by, there are normally newlyweds getting their pictures taken, but not today. It is a relic of a 1915 exposition and is an iconic destination in San Francisco. It holds a certain magic and I fall for the facade and fantasy every time I see it. Wandering around its artificial lagoon, I admire the birds that call it home. 

Beneath the bridge that carries me back across the bay, this city gives me pause. It adds to my character, and on very rare occasions takes it away. Wherever I land, I will always be fond of San Francisco. Like New York City, many people long for what it once was. I understand that inclination and believe many things in both places have been lost. However, the more you explore, the more you find the hidden corners, the stories untold, the grit that holds it all together, the more you appreciate what it is today. Having lived on both coasts and in between, I lean toward the sunny side, even when the sun is covered in the summer fog.  

Good morning ocean. Someone has left you flowers. Did you happen to notice them? The wind has battered their delicate petals but it makes me love them all the more. I have a feeling that they may not actually be for you but for someone you took. They could also be in honor of someone who held you dear. I will never know, and you can't answer, so I will leave it to wonder. 

Good morning seagulls. You are lucky you do not have to be socially distant. Thanks for letting me join your gathering for a moment. I know no one hired a photographer, but lucky for you, I currently work for free (for birds anyway).  

Good morning ravens. You and I have been friends for a while now. We pretend to ignore each other, and you do that silly dance of trying to get away, when you clearly want to be close. No, I did not bring a picnic, and will not be leaving any garbage for you to collect. You do alright though. Your numbers have grown and you show a vastness of age and agility. There are some scrappy ones among you, but aren't there always? I dare say, I find them charming.  

Good morning humans. For all that need to hear it, we must do better.