The Geary bus all the way from downtown came to an unfamiliar end of the line. I found myself walking down Seal Rocks lane.
The remains of Sutro baths once a Victorian pavilion arching over heated sea water pools.
Seal Rocks just beyond the location of the old Cliff House here at the very Western coast of the continent.
The Pacific with the dim headlands of Marin.
The glittering sea and the wind-swept trees of land's end.
Cargo ships and sailboats pass by and do not collide.
Away from the beaten by-ways, this weathered log affords me a chaise on which to recline and smoke a bit. I dream of a far-off land, the here and now.
The rocks at land's end.
Standing in the surf for eons perhaps underwater again someday.
The Golden Gate bridge comes into view.
The Golden Gate before the bridge.
Rock sculpture
Up the silent hillside trail
A cliff-side hideaway, visited over thirty years.
A traveler's repast consists of carrot, organic hard-boiled egg, whole wheat bagel with neufchatel & a packet of hot sauce, dried fruit & chocolate.
With companions or in solitude, ever a place of peaceful enjoyment.
A last grand view of the bridge.
Up past the august Museum of the Legion of Honor
Closed for deep thought. Some of us are doers.
Equestrian statues ride off over the hills.
At this hour in six months time the lion will stare out into darkest night.
Evening thoughts like lengthening shadows. A golf course built on old burial grounds.
Must return to the urban center
To the palaver downtown.
For an evening pilsner out on a pedestrian pier.
The nimbus of time
The Bay Bridge towers nearby
A vast expanse
Yerba Buena island anchors the bridge facing East.
Tile boat and golden gate.
A vintage streetcar faces East, as does my BART train, back home under the Bay to Berkeley.
18 June 2011
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