"Cleanplate" is a verb

An unhappy poet is a hungry poet and I had to do something about that. Way down 24th Street at York is where you'll find sunny sidewalks, skinny jeans and San Francisco's oldest ice cream parlor-turned-diner, St. Francis Fountain. Below is the Chef's Mess: two eggs scrambled with home fries, bacon & mushrooms, topped with melted cheese, tomatoes, sour cream & green onions. I wanted a better look at these adorably old-fashioned plates, so I needed to clear just a few things away.

What?

Sky Phases

Is there anything like a San Francisco sky? Anything as temperamental, as alluring, as unique? It keeps you on your feet. You beg. You wish for sun. You wish for rain. You cry to make it rain. You freeze in a sun dress, just to make it shine. Your first look out the window will not resemble the last. The gray sky is not a storm. The ocean sky has waves. The blue sky is summer. The blue sky is February. Cloudless. The evening commute: a menace. Its fog rolls in over twin peaks, its wind blows a piece of your hair away from you. The night sky is almost clear. There are planes everywhere.

Everyday the San Francisco sky has a different pattern. You say: all the skies in all the world are patterned in clouds-yes-but this one has a voice. Its clouds are not shapes, waiting to be named. An ice cream cone! A girl! A double-decker bus! A girl, eating an ice cream cone, on a double decker bus! No.

That cloud, the one that crawls away from a terrible sun, towards a faraway peak. The one it will climb. The cloud will climb its meant-for peak and I will never see it here again. My first look out the window will not resemble my last. The cloud dances and dances, all night into morning, into another ballroom of sky. There is no hint it's been here or enjoyed itself or cried in hallways. It leaves no trace, no crumb. No piece of ripped lace, not even a dancing shoe.

Apple'a'Day

It is like a wild goose chase finding these places, especially when you're reading directions backwards and going around in squares instead of straight lines, but we made it! Gabriel Farm on Sullivan Street--oh! it's name just makes me feel cozy. We greeted our gracious hosts, who told us: go for Golden Delicious and Fuji, both perfectly ripe and in season. Once we learned everything (like weigh rate and to NOT pick the pears), we were orchard bound with baskets! Along the way, we ate wild blackberries off the stem, giving our hands a nice red stain. The kind of stain that shows we know how to get our hands dirty. Then, we pick a row and pick some apples, but, gently, off the branch.

I like getting all up in those trees...

...and some of us become the tree.

Remainder

Sip
of water is

a sigh, a
sip.

Harmonious
a sip is

song
of liquid throat of

closing voice
one of

opens
this water wood.

Red tree

its armor down
insatiable

song
a sigh relief

invention of
the big sip.

"There you are
good girl"

drinking
fountain drops.

No Gnomes Here

Always seeking poetry, sometimes I head north for it. Saturday, being a special day and all, gave me inspiration in the form of a village, a bakery, a garden and its little creatures, nestled in the flora. The day began on the Bohemian Highway, at the Wild Flour Bread Bakery, also known as the ultimate getaway from the city. They feature organic, piping hot breads, straight from a wood fired oven. My birthday crew and I enjoyed the Fougasse (potato, garlic, rosemary, jack, chedder and swiss) and the Green Goat (green onion and goat cheese). Yes, you heard me.

The sweets are good and all (understatement), but what I really cherish is the wildflower garden out back. While enjoying treats and coffee, you can stroll through the magical greens and watch bees and butterflies do their thing. I was especially excited to see sunflowers taller-than-me and pumpkins ready-for-carving. I'm going to hold back on posting those pictures (of which I have many) so you can see for yourself when you venture there next weekend (wink wink). Today I'm more enchanted by the different kinds of creatures I found hidden in the landscape.

Check out these last creatures...how'd they get in there?

Overwhelm

uncontrollable
irrepressible
irresistible
overpowering
compelling

Morning Cute

This morning is homemade oatmeal for breakfast. Comfort food, no doubt. I like to watch the brown sugar melt on top, making the dried cranberries glisten like rubies.

Skinny Love

Saw Bon Iver at the Fillmore.

I imagine he wrote all his songs

to accompany this sunset.

Concert was in San Francisco,

last night. Sunset was in Woodside,

forever ago.

I'll tell you

You start from scratch, like you would with any draft or poem that's not going the way you want. Sometimes it's best to start over. A clean slate. A blank sheet. A new Word document. When you spend all day Saturday driving down the California coast with dreams of sleeping under the stars and waking up to muffins at Big Sur bakery, only to find all the campsites full and yourself driving back to the city!!! and waking up on Sunday with not a redwood tree in sight!!!--you must begin again.


With a strawberry banana smoothie and many shades of pink!


With a vintage striped shirt and a Clare Vivier bracelet!


With Brie!


With bike rides everywhere!


With a Huguenot torte that Liz made.

Its chewy apple filling reminds me of all the apple picking I want to do this fall.

Now that wasn't so bad.

Camping shmamping. Sunday in the city was as cozy as any Saturday in the wild (minus the Redwoods of course).

Great Expectations

and then what?

Shapes and Sizes

Top to bottom, cliff to sea, we explore and ascend
from Hawi. Dry sand to lush greens,
not a stone left unturned.

Orientation

Lesson One: how to begin? Start with morning. Start with Sunday. A store front window offers something better than half-price. Better than two-for-one. Just come in. Enter. Best start with September.