Photo: Sheila Fitzgerald / Shutterstock.com There is water here, somewhere, but not at the end of this street, or the next one, each finding only a barrier of evergreens. And so I walk ever further into this maze of houses, each reclaimed from history, yards...
1. In the boat’s wake:a range of mountains,arching spine of peaks and valleys molded into the pliant sea. The path forward: littered with driftwood. 2. The earth’s anxiety in the liminal spaces: maelstrom of birds, the wind’s long howl, arrhythmic ocean swelling and...
We’re walking in San Francisco and it’s getting late. I’m here in The City and it has been such a long time. A lot of time has passed. A lot of heavy time. It weighs on me as I return to familiar places and I feel aged, but you have to pronounce it...
It’s that time of year when the eucalyptus trees peel their bark like wet swimsuits and let them slap onto the ground, as if they could step out of the soggy pile and kick it to the side. They bare their long trunks, poised on the precipice over New Brighton beach...
I didn’t expect so many children to fill Hancock Park mid-morning on a Tuesday. They are likely spillover from the nearby Children’s Museum, whirling like metallic tops across patches of yellowed grass. A neon-pink posse in matching camp shirts surround the lake pit,...
“The Gilroy Garlic Shoppe” by Scott Schrantz is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 or every time I feel like a bird struck by a plane & then falling toward the world below, I think about the dayI stumbled into Gilroy known chiefly for its garlic—the stench of...
