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 blue sky has returned from the orange haze that blocked the sun for days. The air is no longer thick with ash, and hearts are no longer quite so heavy. I walk on a street that has been blocked to allow for car free pedals and strolls. I am happy to be among humans again. Isolation can stifle ones soul and creativity. Being able to move around with other people, even at a distance, even without interacting beyond a hello, is a gift. 

I park near my favorite restaurant which has the best bread and butter I have ever had. If it was the last thing I ever ate, I would be fine with that. A few doors down is one of my favorite coffee shops. The owner is an artist with a way with words and coffee beans. Beyond that is an art supply store with beautiful paints and a desirable collection of paper and pencils. This is not why I am here, and I am still not venturing into my old haunts, open or not.   

The ocean calls to me the way it always does, but I challenge myself to walk the other direction. It is unusually warm for San Francisco, but summer here generally does not start until fall. I've lost track of time. I click and step, click and step, never letting go of my camera. I walk up 27 long blocks, avenue to avenue. I walk back on a parallel street, 27 blocks in reverse. My pace is slow and contemplative. I try to take notice of everything. 

Time is mysterious and safety from disaster is no longer a given, if it ever was. This day is a reminder to never take the blue sky for granted. Never dismiss the ease of breathing. I try to smile to others under my mask, as I know we have all been in a collective state of panic. Realizing they cannot read the smile from my eyes alone, I wave an awkward wave, and continue clicking. 

The containment of the fires grows and the smoke has more breaks between. However, we are now in a heat wave and PGE threatens more power outages due to expected high winds next week. 2020 is relentless and California is in a state of fatigue. An early morning walk offers a bit of respite. 

I look at a familiar apartment building in the neighborhood, called Capri. We went to the island of Capri once and rode the chairlift for the best views. I dangled my feet, kicking them back and forth the way a child might. I love ferris wheels, chair lifts and swing rides. I rode on a swing ride in Vienna once that was said to be the highest chained carousel in the whole world at 383 ft tall. No one I was with would go with me. It felt rickety and dangerous but I was determined. It was also night and the city was lit up. I could see the stars. As the swing dipped and turned, my teeth dried out from smiling. My hands cramped from holding rusty chains. It was the best sensation, and while it lasted, I was on top of the world. 

I walk on and see a street sign that reads, "Florence". I have never been there but am happy to continue with the Italian theme this block provides. I imagine myself eating good cheese and bread and drinking red wine at a local cafe. Surely art viewing will be part of the day and hopefully a local flea market. This is my imaginary vacation prompted by a couple visual clues in California. On a good day, I am very happy to be here. When the Golden State suffers and wails, I escape into my mind where all things are possible. 

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.  

A deer and I exchange curious glances as I walk slowly up a hill. I stop to say hello and to be an observer of this creature foraging for food. I send a mental apology for my presence but remain steadfast in my glance. I record the moment and move on. 

I enjoy the view from way up here where the world seems quiet and calm. The sun is shining but the trees bring a cool breeze that is calming. This is a moment of contentment. 

I wind up and back not having followed the road this far before. I am not sure where I will land and am unconcerned. I have a knack for following my nose and a harder time caring very deeply about maps. Getting lost is the way I get found. It hasn't always been the wise choice, but for the most part, it proves rewarding.  

Since my current camera hit its demise from tiny grains of sand, I use my camera from 8 years ago. It has dings and scrapes on the lens from the bicycle accident that broke my wrist. This camera, although damaged, is an object of value. I add a few more photos to the thousands it has helped me create. The quality is not my focus as much as the act of seeking and understanding, the space and time moved through. Objects give clues to intangible consciousness, an ebb and flow of chance circumstance.

A man looks at his phone while walking a dog, a zig zag of unawareness. I hopscotch through the street guessing his next step. "Pick a side", I think loudly. I look around for an opening with no humans. I take my mask off one ear to breathe deeply, then quickly wrap the ear strap back around my ear. I am tired of not walking with my mouth naked and haphazardly ajar, for no other reason than it is how things used to be. I ponder when breathing unencumbered will be safe again. I am frustrated with these repeated thoughts, but it is not about me. It is about all of us working together for the wellness of humanity. I know this needed wellness extends way beyond simply wearing a mask. 

I walk past an apartment building where two men are chatting while smoking cigarettes. One yells to me, "Great day, isn't it?!" I yell back, "I guess as great as it can be!" I feel bad for my lack of enthusiasm when his energy is upbeat. He yells back, "It's always great when you have rock stars!" I am not sure what this means, but picture myself at a rock concert, standing right next to the stage. The men continue chatting and I walk on. 

I pass a honeysuckle vine again. This plant, I can smell through my mask. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My eyes well up, but I do not let the tears drop. I let the plant signal a feeling of known comfort and continue on, finding courage in the perplexing present. 

I wear a homemade mask. As I walk, the mask feels hot, and I long to breathe the fresh air, the way we did before March. I look around for a window of no humans, so I can inhale and exhale, unencumbered - even if just for a moment. I pause in the new reality and accept the strangeness. It is in the uncomfortable moments that we learn the most. 

Wandering through an open field, redwoods surround. I admire their proud stance. I follow the connecting road and attempt making friends with a crow. I think about the fox that visited the backyard, three times now, and wonder when he will return. I pretend I am a butterfly.