Fog Walk: A True Story

As I entered Golden Gate Park, it appeared that the first fog of autumn would be short-lived. It was already dissolving in wonderfully filtered sunlight when I reached a favorite stand of trees on the outskirts of the ballfields.

But by the time I reached the Music Concourse, twenty minutes later, the fog was as heavy as ever, even laced with sprinkles. Goethe and Schiller huddled, thrown off kilter, wondering if this was perhaps a fake news event.

The Roman Gladiator, always a man of action, was determined to resist. There was a vaguely quixotic feel to his battle with the elements.

On the other hand, Francis Scott Key sat back in contemplative resignation. Or maybe he was just preocuupied with thoughts of his most famous poem and what had become of it in recent days. Below him, fog or no fog, the blackbirds made their daily rounds.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s