Six AM and I’m out the door. Sometimes the sound of pounding surf draws me to Glass Beach and screaming seagulls but this morning is cool and damp with the sound of the Noyo foghorn in the distance, perfect for a walk up Whipple, east on Winifred, south on Brandon, Cory and Grove.
This time of year the yellow streetlights wink out, one by one, as the marine layer begins to brighten. Rays the color of forest fire begin peeking between the coastal hills.
Occasionally I encounter wood smoke and further on, someone’s morning toke lingers in the air. Ravens glide silently onto the soccer field. A school bus rattles by, stops at Oak, blinks and turns right. Diesel fumes dissipate.
Blue light flickers on drawn curtains; the morning news in progress. Through an open window I hear someone snoring, then a dog barks.
This time of year the yellow streetlights wink out, one by one, as the marine layer begins to brighten. Rays the color of forest fire begin peeking between the coastal hills.
Occasionally I encounter wood smoke and further on, someone’s morning toke lingers in the air. Ravens glide silently onto the soccer field. A school bus rattles by, stops at Oak, blinks and turns right. Diesel fumes dissipate.
Blue light flickers on drawn curtains; the morning news in progress. Through an open window I hear someone snoring, then a dog barks.
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