Sunday, September 29, 2013

Yesterday I realized how easy it is for me to fall in love.  I was entranced by someone, this woman of remarkable energy, intelligence, and beauty, and cannot get her out of my mind.  I imagine daily life with her; nights holding one another in a tight embrace after making love.  "More happy, happy, love"--John Keats.    Sharing our respective experiences of the day over dinner and a glass of wine.

The power of touch is more powerful than most words.

The great underlying terror that she doesn't feel the same way about me.  That all that happened was no more than her usual behavior of "being nice" toward another person.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

A bright, sunny, clear day after the dark storm of yesterday.    A section of College Avenue was closed to traffic so people could do yoga in the middle of the street.

An intercollegiate water polo competition in Spieker Pool.

A type of day when you think you could walk into a cafe and meet your partner for life there.  You know this will not happen, will never happen.  You know this as soon as you have this thought.

Saturday, September 21, 2013


I emerge into a bright morning of late summer.  The sun has fully risen as I walk to my usual cafĂ© to get my latte before work.  As I stand waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change, a young couple is behind me.  I can tell from their conversation that they are CAL students, about to begin the Fall semester.  Their talk is lively, energetic; all about their classes and the teachers they'll have for them. The boundless,  happy energy of youth.  All of a sudden there is silence. When I turn around to look at them, they are locked in an embrace. He kisses her, the light changes, and they walk past me, holding hands and happily talking.  They are both about 19, maybe 20, years old.   For them, at this moment, everything is a bright sun in a cloudless sky. 

I get my latte and walk on.  When I reach the intersection where the MacDonald's is located, a couple blocks from my office, I see a young man, probably in his early 20’s, sitting on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.   He is alone.  The muscles underneath his soiled skin are taught and hard; his eyes focus on nothing.  His clothes are stained by his past. With a sullen expression, his forearm tensing like a tightened cable, he lights a cigarette as if he's sharpening a knife.