It's not easy for an old, discarded plastic bag here in San Francisco. Due to new local regulations, they no longer are welcome at local supermarkets; thus, the local population is in steep decline. They may not be on the endangered species list quite yet, but that's only a question of time.
The few who persist on our mean streets get whipped around mercilessly by our biting winds. Today, I watched one such victim rise and fall in a wind tunnel next to the brick edifice of a warehouse-turned-loft apartment building.
The winds were having their way with this bag. It was flipped wide open, upside down, handles flapping uselessly in the cyclone's grasp. The bag had no hope of flying away gracefully (as would an escaped balloon). Its only option was to put up with the abuse, while waiting to find out its fate. Would its next resting place be high (tangled in a tree or in the wires), or low, (squashed and dirty in the gutter.)
This park is actually the site of former Seals' Stadium, where 50 years ago this spring, the first-ever major league baseball game was played. (The Giants beat the Dodgers.)
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I can always tell when my luck's about to change. The night before, the sky is colorful and inviting. Typically, I get a premonition. I'll imagine, say, finding money in the street.
This morning, I found an old folded $5 bill in the street.
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One of the better parts of business travel can be getting home. The exceptionally talented photographer Chris Hardy captured the greeting I got from my twelve- and nine-year-olds Saturday. This kind makes everything else worth while, from my POV...
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