golden hour

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.

 

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First Day, Last Light

On New Year’s Eve I was in the San Francisco Botanical Garden before and during sunset, and captured some images I still intend to share here. But I was so taken with the shifting slivers of light on and around this gray honey myrtle that I returned at about the same day on New Year’s Day to “work the scene” some more. Here’s an image, a fantasia of sorts, from the last light of that first day of 2016. (Note: clicking opens it larger.) Happy New Year!

Gray honey myrtle at San Francisco Botanical Garden.