Gray dawn. Windows streaked with rain. Even though it’s late fall in San Francisco, the atmosphere reminds me of springtime back east. I miss my garden. I miss the March thaw, the April rains, the daffodils, forget-me-nots, and crocuses, the shovel’s thrust, the turning over of thick earth. Here, my seasons are in disarray, my sense of time disrupted.
Yesterday I went for a walk. The sun was t-shirt warm. In the Pet Cemetery by the bridge, Calla Lilies bloomed and the ground glowed with patches of star-shaped white flowers. I’m still not used to the brightness of November. This blanket of gray feels more in keeping with the season.
Last week it rained for three days straight. I was sick for much of the week – common cold, I think. I am just now returning to myself.