The second day of the first day of spring

Riding my bicycle through San Francisco yesterday I began to see the underlying difference between neighborhoods--those whose trash is made up mostly of broken glass and those whose trash is made up mostly of recyclable paper goods.

My idea for improving the Supreme Court--remove the robes--is something we can all agree on, but I also know that it will never happen. And is it that we all agree the Supreme Court needs improving, or is it that we all agree that robes are archaic symbols of clerical power? Or both?

It being the second day of the first day of spring I stop to look for signs at the corner of Pine and Market. I get off my bike and look up at the tall buildings and the sky beyond the tall buildings. Faith, as I see it, is a kind of wilderness, the kind of wilderness that keeps leading me on and on and on, no matter what happens.

The air along The Embarcadero no longer needs to pose as fresh air, it is fresh air.

All the restaurants are closed down and closed up tight, even Zuni, disproving my earlier belief that if you look deep enough into a man's heart you'll find foie gras.

I think about style, what it means to have a style as a writer, an artist, a philosopher, politician and so forth, and come to the conclusion that style is the way you are when you're all alone.

The trees in Golden Gate Park are blossoming right on time, both ahead of schedule and behind. The white blossoms of the magnonlia trees give me the strange courage the star gave William Carlos Williams in 1917.

Spring moves forward as a season without language.

I'm almost home. Maybe the words we should be using aren't 'stay safe' but are instead, 'be brave.'

San Francisco Botanical Gardens, late February, 2020. Photo by author. The gardens are temporarily closed, at least until April 7, 2020.