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. 

I drive to where the houses float on the bay. I can feel them subtly sway as if to breathe freely with the tide. I feel like crying when the world has wavered from any semblance of sane. I hold my tears in favor of believing in what is gained, what can be sought, and the renewed wellness that comes after the collective unwell. I remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones, and my heart is heavy for the whole of us, not as a reflection of my personal circumstances. 

A wave of happiness washes over me the way it does when I am out wandering. I don't see it coming and then it is there. I welcome it and share it with the birds; there are always birds. 

Some of the houseboats are precarious in their build. Their charm and decorative flare outweigh their dubious structure. There are sailboats here too but none are active on the water. I imagine what it would be like to live right on the bay itself or to be able to sail at will. 

I used to ride my bike here from the other side of the bay. I would take public transportation from the East Bay to San Francisco, ride through town, over the Golden Gate Bridge and then along a path that hugged the water. I eavesdropped on old salts yukking it up in a crafty cove. I looked for pelicans, egrets and herons communing in marshy water. I pedaled along the path until it ended in mud and overgrown bushes. I stopped for coffee and rode ferry and bus back home.

I was never hindered by the humans that surrounded me then. Now, I am in a constant state of zigzag and space assessment. I am disguised, as are they - if they are conscientious.  The sky is still blue and the water still ebbs and flows. 

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.  

Simply being can occasionally be enough these days. It isn't always important to be poetic, profound or hardworking. It might be better to be genuinely awake and aware. In times of pause, one is an observer, a quiet wanderer, gathering energy to propel firmly forward.  

Hummingbirds are natural at social distancing. It is rare that I can capture a photo of them as they flit about. As I raise my lens, they look back at me and quickly move away. They collect the sweet bits and abandon confrontation. On the rare opportunity a hummingbird is caught still and resting, the iridescent feathers of neck and chest appear to glow from within. In these instances, I am still, breath held. The moment will quickly pass, and I must take full advantage.   

Once a hummingbird found its way into the empty storefront attached to my art studio. The confused bird flew up near the rafters of the high ceilinged warehouse space. My studio mates and I gathered around in hopes the little creature would return to the outdoors. We made sure the doors were open wide and we talked to the bird as if it understood. He found a resting spot on a chain that was pulled tight to hold the room's industrial lighting. Meanwhile, we all looked to our phones and computers to tell us how to lure the hummingbird outside. 

The color red was touted as a color for which the bird would be fond. We gathered red buckets, a red quilt, red paintings etc. We stood outside waving them around foolishly. The hummingbird was as still as I had ever seen one. I took a break from the red dance to take a few photos.

When our sea of red failed us, we turned on the HVAC system in hopes that the wave of air would send the bird flying in the right direction. To our surprise, he continued to sit watching the harebrained humans. We gave up and decided to leave him to his own devices. As we buried ourselves in art making again, he eventually flew away, on his own terms. 

The overwhelming quiet can be incredibly loud. The slightest bit of activity can jostle the senses, but not enough to wake from the surreal state we all live in now.  For many, self awareness has gone out the window in favor of the selfish pact of one. Others form community in attempt to stay connected, but their connection may ultimately do them harm. Many fight for justice, while our so called leadership is a dumpster fire of absolute madness. 

The blue sky and birds chirping are simple pleasures which call for one to pause and take notice. I hear you birds, and I will not knowingly harm you.  

A pine cone has fallen into an empty parking lot, lost from the tree from which it came. I bend down to visit it. This lot, once full of cars, is now abandoned for the summer and indefinite future. This is the summer that time has new meaning, and our understanding of relationships with one another will be forever changed. 

Fishermen stand quietly waiting for a bite, a sign of other life. The foggy morning air is cool and comforting, and humans are few here. My mood is lifted immensely by this old place, near to the city that sings to my soul when I let it. The hills surround, hugging what is often hidden from plain sight. Rust and ragged show age and story. Boats tell stories of sailors and water wanders. It is beautiful as beauty can be, but I still see the broken bits that tell the true tales. 

An act of recording is a means to not forget, to be present and also remember. I am here; I am alive; I stand in this place and my heart is open. Pelicans fly by, majestic. I click away but their pace is quick and their spirits not easily captured. The prize is their presence. 

Tracking time seems entirely arbitrary now, but I still try to remember the day, the month, the year. Spring and summer pass in isolation from a once known reality. Everything is called into question, for good reason. Patience is a virtue most desired, and, for many, newly nurtured. 

This day reminds me of days spent on my bicycle, and how I once landed here by happenstance. The world is entirely different now, but my essence feels secure and constant. I stand where I stood then, taking some of the same photographs. I challenge myself to look in different directions. There is always something new to see and a deeper measure of understanding. I look out; I look in. 

A bee finds refuge inside the carcass of a crab. Seaweed morphs into the shape of a bird. Masks are worn only briefly when nearing humans, few enough to be counted on one hand.

Wanting to feel the calm the beach can bring, I smile a true smile, with teeth revealed. But I am not truly calm. When time is so ill-defined and days turn into months of on hold, one wonders when idyllic days will return. Recognizing that no time is free of complications, this point in history is an endless series of chaos, destruction and bad behavior by questionable humans. Greed brought us to this state, and now we swim in the muck of our own making. We take our oneness to mean self, when the planet and humanity requires us to humble our own egos in favor of healing what has been so very broken. 

Pelicans glide low and fast on their way to or from sustenance. A deer runs to the hills like a jackrabbit, nimble and appearing to fly. The fog slowly clears revealing a steely blue.