I rise early, and now it’s 6:00, the moon a slivered crescent in the Eastern sky as the world begins to turn to rose and pink with a few wisps of Karl the fog, the latest phenomenon in the Bay area, giving the fog that moves in and out a name.

Perhaps the name honors Carl Sandburg and his words:

Fog

The fog comes 

on little cat feet. 

It sits looking 

over harbor and city 

on silent haunches 

and then moves on.

I’m driving south today to Menlo Park via Half Moon Bay and Woodside.  I need the ocean and bay more and more these days as I honor transition and flow.  Today is a celebration of Velvet’s life, a joyful spirit now transitioned out of her body into a wider world and she is here patting my heart with her paws and tapping my being with jumps and barks.  

“Wake! Wake!” she harks, and honoring her spirit, all spirit, I do.  

Seeing the range of impermanence in rock and foam


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