Welcome back j.fisher. - Somehow the innocuous Typepad greeting makes a lot of sense.
It seems like ages, but here's pretty much what I've been up to: Linking to pretty things on the interwebs as my brain unlinks all the brouhaha.
I love the afternoon light. I love the feeling of it -- the slow return to home, the hum of insects and light as the evening approaches.
We don't get much rain or snow in San Francisco. Our weather is like a series of happy sitcoms compressed. Seasons? We have micro-seasons lasting no more than thirty minutes.
Winds – gusty, breezy, form our daily rhythms. The evening pushes cool sea air (to fog, to mist) into the warmer valleys' bosoms. And the light. I love the afternoon light dancing. Amongst leaves. Between hills. Off windows. The light turns the city into paper. Layers of homes pasteled and faint stretch back and up on sines and cosines. On the daily bus ride home, I lean against the window when the sun begins to glow. The spires punctuate the haze of vanilla and cream.
Like melodies on Beethovenian's compositions, wind and light dance in between the sea and hills, oblivious while the teutonic plates beneath our feet turns and shifts.