Two years ago during a sporadic and drifting drive westward, I parked in the empty lot in front of the modest signpost and shuffled down the damp trail to this waterfall. The fresh chilled air and dim morning light felt eerie, but refreshingly different from the city, and different was what I wanted. Pacific Northwestern […]
Within the first few weeks of moving to this city, I recall waiting for a bus downtown in the dark hard rain. I watched the busy intersection in front me, congested with damp commuters trying to get home, and incredulously, a commuter biking up the steep hill. Cold, wet, and dispirited from the lack of
I went to Balboa Park with little research and limited time. Innumerable folks spoke of this park with reverence and advised me to visit, so I hastily pulled myself out of a nap and drove over. As expected, I couldn’t see it all. I hurried my steps between strollers and flocks of teenagers to as
I have been here for four years already. Weeks ago during a road trip stop at Ruby Beach, I met a charming middle-aged couple from Michigan. They shared that they were enjoying a leisurely exploration of the Pacific Northwest after their two children had recently graduated from university. He asked me how long out of
I walk to my car in the midnight light, and it is damn cold. Quiet. I glance to my left, down the hill and over the bay, at the lights from the Port. It’s a bleary mirage that reminds me of fireflies back in Michigan, delicately illuminating a summer evening. But already, it is October,