The Changing Light

Photo by S.W. Cosgrove

The view from my office window high above Market Street, looking up Van Ness, as the fog rolled in from the Golden Gate onto The City, changing day into night. I always had a sweater ready in the middle of summer.

The Changing Light by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The changing light
                 at San Francisco
       is none of your East Coast light
                none of your pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
                        is a sea light
                                       an island light
And the light of fog
                   blanketing the hills
          drifting in at night
                      through the Golden Gate
                                       to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
       after the fog burns off
            and the sun paints white houses
                                    with the sea light of Greece
                 with sharp clean shadows
                       making the town look like
                                it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o’clock
                                     sweeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim
                  when the new night fog
                                        floats in
And in that vale of light
                      the city drifts
                                    anchorless upon the ocean

4 thoughts on “The Changing Light

  1. The days of Ferlinghetti We had high hopes that we could change things overnight. I also read then Voznesenski and Yevtushenko, power filled Russian Verse…from Yevtushenko: I dreamed of a world without the sick and the fat, without dollars, francs and pesetas, where there are no frontiers, no deceit of governments, rockets and stinking newspapers. I dreamed of a world where everything is freshly created as a wild cherry tree stippled with dew, full of nightingales and thrushes, where all the nations are related and in brotherhood, where no one slanders or abuses anyone,, where air is clean, like morning on the river, where we live, forever immortal, with Galia, dreaming the dream, cheek to cheek..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Christina! We loved in Oakland Hills just off Skyline Drive and Broadway Terrace. A half block from our house there was an incredible three-bridge view. We used to mix a cocktail and walk up there to sit in the grass and soak in that amazing view.

      Like

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