My Dick’s Drive-In shirt surfaced in my dresser today and I put it on. While brushing, my electric toothbrush gave off a spray of toothpaste dots and I immediately visualized the stippling of milkshake mixer dots that would I’d have spread across the shirt after a couple of shifts.
Each day that I’ve walked past this week, except for today, there has been a cloister of pelicans resting from their migration on the opposite shore of the lagoon. On the island in the next pond over from them there were also a number of egrets spread across the shore.
Yesterday, as I observed the birds, a dog came lumbering by. Its leash was pulled taut with a woman leaning against its weight at the other end. The woman wore a sea green tshirt with the words “Comcast Cares” printed on front.
Today, as I note the birds’ absence, a sea plane circles around to land in the bay behind me. It slows as its skids first skim the surface. Then it lifts off again, circles around and repeats its attempt twice more before it comes to a stop on its fourth attempt.
A jet’s vapor trail reaches from one horizon to the other intersecting the noontime sun at its halfway point.
This is the last bottle left from a haul of four wines that Tricia picked up at Wine Mine before our Thanksgiving trip. If it’s not the best wine from that haul, it is the most surprising. I haven’t been favoring cabernet recently, but this is tasty. It has strong fruit and tannin tastes that balance out perfectly.
I found a weird hazelnut candy with a half-opened wrapper printed with Russian text in my son’s Halloween haul. I’m afraid I ate it. It didn’t taste good, but it also didn’t taste bad. I’m not sure what happens next.
Waves flicker with dimples that catch the light when the wind gusts brush against their surface.
And, for this lunchtime at San Rafael Bay, we have choppy waters. The sky is clear here.
At the horizon, five Bay Bridge towers peak out from a fog bank (behind the closer Richmond Bridge): the two towers of the west span, two peaks of the old east span’s support structure, and the new east span’s tower.
I see a thin dark plume to the south: the Mount Diablo fire.
The water is nearly still on San Rafael Bay at lunchtime.
The lagoon behind me is nearly full for the first time in two months, the salty cracked soil mostly covered. The black necked stilts are wading along the shore with their heads tipped down, studying the water in front of them, the area that can be covered within one or two steps of their springy gait. The bird in front is being chased by the one behind him. They run at double speed, the chased bird calling out little peeps every few steps.
A stray dog has circled around from the opposite shore. He slows when he spots me watching him. When I sneeze suddenly, he turns and flees.
“Arriving by the Panama steamer, I stopped one day in San Francisco and then inquired for the nearest way out of town. ‘But where do you want to go?’ asked the man to whom I had applied for this important information. ‘To any place that is wild,’ I said. This reply startled him. He seamed to fear I might be crazy and therefore the sooner I was out of town the better, so he directed me to the Oakland ferry.”
-John Muir, Yosemite