a fine layer

This morning I awoke to window views of mist encircling my neighborhood as if a cloud had decided this would be its final resting place. My room, where I spend the first half of my day working, is all windows on one side with a glimpse of San Francisco out on the horizon. Our neighborhood is lovely; a combination of craftsman, old Victorian and little arched adobes. The yards, with whatever space they have, accommodate an assortment of trees - many of which have donned their fall coats and delight my eyes with brilliant auburn and crimson.

My room is on the third floor of our turn-of-the-century building. When I open my shades I am treated to a view of an assortment of roofs, the city skyline in the distance and anyone who might wander by and rifle through our recycling. It makes me feel at home here to let these views in - to observe life as it happens around me, and not just within me. The challenge of course, is that when it's sunny out I can't work in my room with the shades open because I'm almost blinded by the light. So it is only on these days of heavy mist or overcast that I can really take it all in, and take it in, I do.