storm

Ambivalence

The morning after the storms passed in late November, I took my camera to the hills near my Inner Sunset home to capture views to the north, east, and west. I was feeling grateful, for many reasons. First, the storm’s tail-end spawned fantastic cloudscapes; this photo-ready drama, common elsewhere, is relatively rare in San Francisco. Second, the storm stirred hope for a good rainy season, which we still need after years of drought. Third, the clear sharp air was the first after nearly two weeks of smoke — breath-stealing, eye-stinging, school-closing smoke — that had drifted to the Bay Area from the tragic Camp Fire hundreds of miles to the north and east.

As my camera shoot progressed, this last bit of gratitude slowly opened itself to question. Yes, the skies dazzled, and my lungs sucked in cool fresh air, and I was grateful, even exhilarated, that the smoke was vanquished. But to our north and east, the dead were still being sought and counted, and beneath these same brilliant skies the people of Paradise were slowly returning to … nothing.

So I felt a mix of sorrow and gratitude. I can’t call it survivor guilt, because I was not in the midst of the fire, and what we survived here was by comparison a mere nuisance. I don’t know how to label it, and grammar-themed websites aren’t coming up with answers. “Cognitive dissonance” feels too removed. “Ambivalence” may fit the bill, but in some ways even it seems too weak a term. All I know for certain is that, for me, the images from that morning will always carry a weight beyond their blue skies, sun-struck buildings, and billowy clouds.

 

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Before the Storm

The parched Bay Area is grateful, heading into America’s day of Thanksgiving, for any rain we can get. It was coming; the weather folks said so, the doppler radar said so. But for a couple of hours after the storm was expected to start on Tuesday morning, it was all expectation and no precipitation. Birds sensed it, fall leaves tossed in sudden wind, clouds gathered, but … nothing. It finally did rain, for a bit, and temperatures dropped, but now we’re facing a weekend of crisp winter sun. For a moment before the clouds opened, though, the skies played with a dramatic duality: the dark stormy look that tradition defines as “threatening,” and a shard of rainbow to remind us that the threat, in a period of drought, is also a promise.