A Long, Hot, Slow Weekend

This past weekend at Wilbur was going to be a long one, even by my standards; I was determined not to be in a rush to get there, but it is always good to get out of the city early on a Friday. As I drove out past Walnut Creek, looking at Mount Diablo, I realised that exactly a week before, I had been on its slopes on my bike – and that next Friday, I would be starting the sitting with the Dancing Mountains group in Newmarket.

It was just shy of a hundred degrees when I arrived, and just over a hundred on Saturday and Sunday. There were familiar faces there, apart from the friend I was expecting; it was nice to catch up with people, and I even treated myself to some bodywork with Shalamah, who gave me a serious going over as she has before. It is a time of transition in the staffing there, and I joined in a little celebration for Claudia and Chris, who keep things running very smoothly and will be heading to Europe very soon.

I only had one run planned, and I went out early on Sunday morning to do the ridge trail. I had trepidation – just for the climbs that come after you have already got up to the ridge, and they were as tough as I remembered, just touched by the first sunshine and already warming up. As I reached the top of the final short steep slope, I caught up with a guy walking along, sweating in camouflage, with a hunting rifle – always somewhat expected, though perhaps we were both surprised at each others’ presence. He said there were a couple of guys ahead of him, but I didn’t see them or hear them, and it was quiet and still enough at that time to hear the occasional cars passing down on highway 20, way down below.

The stillness added to the sense of heat, and I relished every minute of it, feeling, as Labor Day came around, that it really did mark a cusp in the seasons. I woke up early each day, mainly from being unused to the temperature shifts during the night, and earlier, even by my standards, on Monday morning. My first thought was that getting up would help me adjust to the time change (since it was already late morning in England), so I got up and lay in the outdoor pool, floating and looking up at the abundant stars.

The place was full all weekend – and they even managed to squeeze in a few people who had left Burning Man early; I saw the tell-tale dust-cover truck in the lot on Sunday morning, and there were a few people who stood out rather, drifting around somewhat less focused than most people at Wilbur. One made it to a couple of sittings, though I was not convinced he was totally present…

I had full houses for both the Sunday sessions and on Monday morning, even filling the cushions ten minutes before the Sunday evening session. I wondered if we had been trending on Instagram, but someone pointed out that it was a long weekend – I think people had run out of alternative things to do… I was motivated by the numbers to try to say something interesting, but by Monday, the fifth session of the weekend, I wasn’t sure I had anything new to say. I was just trying to enjoy the sitting and the heat, and not be in a rush to get back and do my laundry before heading to the airport on Tuesday afternoon.

DSCF9383.jpgPart of the light show on Friday evening.

DSCF9390.jpgFrank was unconcerned, even though the lighting flattered him.

DSCF9416.jpgNew moon following the sun down on Sunday.

DSCF9458.jpgFirst rays at the bathhouse on Monday morning.

DSCF9446.jpgThe path to the yoga deck, which was well trodden over the weekend, in the morning sun.

The Mountains and Waters Sutra

As I like to point out, Dogen’s title is not claiming to be a sutra about mountains and waters, but telling us that the mountains and waters are themselves the sutra – if we pay attention to them rather than thinking we know what they are.

I was originally going to title this post ‘things falling into place’; that phrase came to me last Monday after I had run the uphill blocks and many staircases up to Twin Peaks, and was looking down on the city in a late afternoon mix of sun and shadow. There was a moment where the city felt so deeply familiar that I was settled by it, even as I am busy having plans falling into place for my upcoming trip to other places where I feel at home – and a few, like Hebden Bridge and Belfast, that are becoming more familiar to me each time I visit.

I almost didn’t run that day, but was glad once I was out there, and I knew it would be good preparation for a long run at Wilbur and then those to come in England. This past weekend I took my last significant bike rides until the middle of October, when my form will be very different, and they exemplified summer in the Bay Area: on Friday I left early to catch the BART to Walnut Creek, where it was already warm before eight o’clock; the ride up Mount Diablo was not blessed with much breeze, though at least there was shade. I sweated my way up the road I feel I know well, cracked by the continual stretching and shifting of the mountain, even if I only get there once a year at the moment, something I would like to change. Perhaps the winter will be less wet this year…

The ride is very simple, and that is the fun of it for me: put it in the lowest gear and pedal for an hour until you get to the summit; on the way down, pay attention to every corner.

I led hikes that afternoon, and the following one – my last scheduled roams, as I am not sure the weather will be amenable in the middle of October, much as I hope it will be. And I felt pretty weary from all of that (weary enough not to have written this post for the slot I had originally intended), but not enough to stop me pedalling south on Sunday morning. It was a mostly foggy ride, and having gone out along the Camino Real and adjacent quieter streets, still having to deal with fast-moving and impatient traffic at that early hour, it was a relief to get to the quiet, car-free miles alongside the Crystal Springs Reservoir and San Andreas Lake. Mist drifted prettily off the surface of the water and the farther banks started to appear through the fog. People walked, ran and cycled, all sharing the space peaceably.

I have also been at Zen Center a couple of times, offering zazen instruction this past Saturday, and leading a beginners’ sitting the weekend before. I was very happy that the fifteen participants all stuck it out for the whole day, even if some were struggling with physical discomfort, and sitting longer than they ever had before. I hope they got to watch and appreciate the arc of the mind and the ebb and flow of sitting for those periods, sometimes wakeful, sometimes sleepy – I was certainly tired in the couple of periods after lunch, but rallied before the end. I chose some lines from the Fukanzazengi to speak on, but mostly answered questions. Hopefully people felt met, and encouraged to practice more.

IMG_0795.jpgA view from the summit of Diablo on Friday.

IMG_0316 (1).jpgFrom a previous visit to Crystal Springs, with a different weather pattern.

The Wind Blows Through The Empty Valley

Last week was by and large mercifully fog free in San Francisco, warm and with clear blue skies, reminding me of the best summer days in England – though England was then roasting in the kind of temperatures you expect to get in inland California. The fog came back in for Friday morning; this time I did have enough time to stretch my legs on my bike before going off to Wilbur. It was a round 100 when I arrived.

I was struck that afternoon by the stillness and quiet, and also my response to it, which was to feel very sleepy. Talking with Charlotte, one of the regular bodyworkers, she said it was the heat, but it was more, I think, that I find the heat so deeply relaxing.

Not so easy to sleep in the hot cabins though, even if the temperatures dropped overnight to allow a cool start to the day. Much as I don’t enjoy it, I ran first thing both mornings, as the colours on the golden hills started to reflect the orange skies to the east. On a flatter section heading up to the Medicine Wheel on Saturday morning, I had a sense of gliding, which was a nice delusion to have – it certainly didn’t feel that way the next morning as I lumbered from the cooler valley to the warmer hill tops crossing over to the Terraced Springs, my legs getting gently lacerated by star thistles which are running riot in the valleys.

On Saturday it topped out at 108; on Sunday it nudged a little closer to 110 – as someone observed, the only people to complain about the heat were those who had to work in it. I stuck to the shade, reading Shantideva and snoozing almost, despite good nights’ sleep. The guests were a very mellow bunch, and mostly quiet after the meditations. And when everyone left on Sunday, the wind picked up, as if signalling a change to come in the weather.

After the evening sits, with the sun down behind the hills, but still 90 degrees, I enjoyed lying on the stones of the pool deck which had absorbed all the heat of the day.

On Monday morning I got up early enough to sit in the tub under the stars, as the new moon rose over the hills, visible between the trunks of the pine, before I set off back to the city in the balmy early morning, meeting the fog as it rolled down from American Canyon.



DSCF8877Late afternoon sun on Sunday in the blazing heat.

To the Top of the City

Coming into this weekend, I felt like I had a lot of time and space – there was very little on my schedule, though I knew I would have some writing and recording to do. Mostly, with the sun doing its best, I was looking forward to getting some exercise.

Between the summer weather and continuing tendon issues, I have barely been running for months; I don’t remember the last time I ran in the city, though I did make it out on my last two visits to Wilbur. So while my cycling legs are in reasonable shape – I got up to the top of Tam, well above the damp fog, a week ago, and have in mind to get up Diablo before I go to England (again!) – I realised I ought to at least try to get my running legs back so that I can enjoy the runs I typically get to do once I am over there.

It’s also a while since I felt the need to run around a roam route; mostly I am on familiar grounds now. McLaren Park was such an unknown quantity that walking round it with a phone map at hand seemed a better option. For the next roam, while I am well acquainted with the high points of San Francisco, either on foot or on a bike, the open-ended route I had planned took in a few places I wanted some refreshing to get back into my body. So on a sunny afternoon, I took the N-Judah outbound from Duboce Park to Cole Valley, and started trotting, quite slowly and self-consciously, at least until I got on the trails, where it became a matter of tackling what was at hand.

A lot of the climbing is fairly gentle – especially the trails on Mount Sutro, where I was least familiar with the North Ridge trail, which meanders about Medical Center Way to the summit; I also wanted to tackle the new Clarendon connector from the other end to the one I usually come into the mountain from.
I hadn’t planned my food intake very well prior to running, so while my legs were doing okay at the first peak, my blood sugar felt off; luckily I had a bar with me, and in time that took effect, as I sweated up both of the Twin Peaks. And then realised that I was also going to be approaching Mount Davidson from an unfamiliar angle. In the end, I was able to use visual cues – like the covered reservoir – to get me to the entrance on La Bica, and from there to the summit. On the way down, I tried a different trail to the usual one, and ended up at the top of Dalewood, a fearsome road I have not dared to climb on my bike for a few years, and only ever attempted when I was at my fittest. And then it was a short trot to West Portal station, where the T took me back home in a matter of minutes, a little stiff after the exertions.

I only hope that there isn’t a repeat of the McLaren Park roam, which was scouted on a gorgeous day, and then largely fogged in on the day itself.

Mt Sutro woods statue.jpgLooking back at my photos of the woods on Mount Sutro from a few years ago, I noticed how much more overgrown things seemed on my last visit. This water-guardian is much less visible now.

Pale Blue Skies

In this year of mutable weather, I was not especially surprised that it was cooler during my visit to Wilbur last weekend, than on the previous one. The high cloud covering the Bay Area gave way to pale skies and puffy clouds as I left the freeway and took the back route from Fairfield to Highway 16, stopping at the Full Belly Farm shop on the way, and seeing the traces of recent fire around Rumsey.

Since it was only eighty degrees when I arrived mid-afternoon, I went for a gentle run up the valley and over the creek, not having run since I was last there – it felt okay, and my new shoes probably helped. Having spent the first part of the day in the city wavering as to whether going for a short bike ride would be a good idea or would just end up making me feel rushed as I tried to get out of town,  I was glad to get some exercise in.

The times of the sits had been adjusted to deal with the summer weather, which was great, and worked well, but also left us vulnerable to flies and mosquitoes, especially the 7pm sittings. At 9am, there was a freshness to the day that felt very conducive, and I was surprised how many people were up and about and willing to sit.

On Saturday it nudged ninety, but since there was a pleasant breeze all day, I set off around noon on one of their bikes to finally get some pictures further up the Bear Valley Road, which I had visited last year on a run. It was lovely to see that again, and a nice little work out, which meant I didn’t need to push myself to run early on Sunday. I left mid-morning for an event that I will post about tomorrow.

There was some late drama on Saturday – I was just chatting with Terrye in the office before turning in, when a guest told me there was a baby rattlesnake on the steps close by. Terrye did the pick-up of the tiny little thing with the long-handled picker, and put it in the special snake box (at Tassajara we just use a ten-gallon bin); I volunteered to take it down past the gate in a cart and release it – it seemed entirely disgruntled by the whole process, and I can’t say I blame it.

DSCF8422.jpgThe view up to Cache Canyon from Full Belly Farm.

DSCF8429.jpgTraces of the recent fire by Rumsey.

DSCF8443.jpgThe long valley north on Bear Valley Road.

DSCF8453.jpgI probably have pictures of these hills from all seasons now.

DSCF8467.jpgLate evening light by the yoga deck.


It Is The Time Of Flowers…


… And flowers have arrived.

I used that Dogen quote on my shuso ceremony invitation, and it came inexorably to mind at Wilbur last weekend. I knew that conditions would be different from my last visit a few weeks ago, but I hadn’t completely adjusted to the change in the weather. I remember days in March during practice period at Tassajara when it would be up to 80 degrees, and we would leave the zendo at lunchtime to take off our robes and jump in the creek; this year it feels like I was bundled up in layers until last week, when I was digging out my lightest T-shirts again.

The Capay Valley was lush and green on the way up on Friday, even if I had missed the redbuds after all, and it was pushing 90 when I arrived. I waited until it had at least started to cool, and then ran the smelter trail to confirm for myself what I had already been told: that the trails were just blanketed in flowers. Lupins, Chinese houses, blue dicks, with occasional yellow mimulus and a few banks of orange California poppies to break up the lilac monopoly; I don’t even know the name of the most abundant flower, but it was everywhere on the hillsides. The combination of colours, with the vivid green of the grass, in the low sun was magical. I could not have been happier.

It was 90 degrees on Saturday as well. I started the day going down the road a little way to where I had seen plentiful flowers around the oaks below the gate, and got completely enraptured taking pictures as the sun started to rise about the slopes. After a well-attended morning sit, I didn’t want to run again, but instead took my camera out with me on a hike to the terraced springs and Coyote Peak  – although instead of going the full distance over the ridge and down by the cemetery, I tried a short-cut that I suspected might be possible from a little side valley. It brought me out way closer to the buildings than I had imagined, though I had to navigate a ravine and bush-whack through a few yards of chamise to get to a clear route back…

The breeze kept things cooler on Sunday. I went out again first thing with my camera to catch the low sun on the smelter trail, which, like the previous two outings, was mesmerisingly beautiful and completely peaceful. Well, there were ticks to pay attention to – I brushed a number off, though one ended up biting into my belly button, and another latched on to my armpit, both of which were sore for a while. I was almost disappointed not to see one of the rattlesnakes that had been sunning themselves around the property.

Although the crowd were extremely nice this time around (including someone who remembered having met me at Zen Center when we hosted a wonderful musical event a few years ago), I enjoyed the late afternoon quiet on Sunday when most everyone had left. In the morning, with stars and the new moon, I set off back to San Francisco, where it was not nearly so hot, but just as sunny.

DSCF6886.jpgSaturday morning below the gate.

DSCF6992.jpgThe terraced springs valley, which I had all to myself, as usual.

DSCF7014.jpgThe terraced springs themselves.

DSCF7046.jpgA bank of larkspur further up the valley.

DSCF7057.jpgThe view from Coyote Peak, showing the road, and, in the distance, the hills of Cache Canyon.

DSCF7188.jpgThe smelter trail on Sunday morning.

DSCF7200.jpgStepping through the flowers.

DSCF7179.jpgMimulus by the smelter trail creek.

DSCF7278.jpgFrank was good company as the sun set on Sunday.

New Vistas

For various self-care reasons, I did not run for three weeks, after my weekend at Wilbur. Sometimes, when I pick up again afterwards, there is something like a subcutaneous itch as my body adjusts to the demands again. It didn’t happen so much this time, and my foot did not hurt on the way round, though I could feel its tenderness afterwards.

For this run, I was trying out a new route – and in such cases I always go easy, as there is never any way to know what you are letting yourself in for. I worked out my route of trails and steps on OpenStreetMaps, and also looked at the lay of the land on Apple Maps, but neither of these is the same as putting one foot in front of the other to navigate the route.

Last week I was staying over in Marin, looking after some cats. For my daily routine, it meant more time in a car, driving over various bridges and either coasting down empty-ish freeways, or getting stuck in endless jams trying to cross Berkeley – the usual story, that luckily I don’t have to confront often (the worst jam was made worse by the fact that the gas gauge seemed to be dropping by the minute).
On the plus side, with good weather both weekends I was there, I could take my bike over pleasant and familiar routes – the old rail routes through Larkspur and San Rafael, the China Camp loop and Sleepy Hollow – without the first hour or more of getting out of the city and over from Sausalito. I also explored parts of the Bay Trail – having done this over the new year south of the city, it was fun to look for other sections. Though they didn’t exactly make for contiguous loops, the views were outstanding, and of course totally car-free, which I am enjoying more and more in these days of distracted driving.

The Camino Alto was one of the first routes I learned to ride when I got to San Francisco, along with the back way from Mill Valley to Four Corners (though that becomes less and less enjoyable these days). Recently I have added the Meadowsweet option alongside the 101 if I don’t feel like taking on the Camino Alto climb. For my run, I was going to navigate the hillsides that the Camino cuts through, and see if there was a plausible ‘middle way” as I had seen on a map (of course there is also the old rail tunnel, but there don’t seems to be moves to re-open that one, unlike the wonderful route from Larkspur to San Rafael).

I took a loop of the flat rail trails to start, so as not to be climbing right away, and then found my little staircase off the main road and into the hills. The scene was a typical one for the area – tendrils of road snaking up the hillsides, houses built on precarious slopes, either nestled in the tall trees, or with commanding views of the bay. The last few turns of the road were surprisingly steep, but then I came out to the fire road on the ridge that divided part of the Mill Valley bowl from the Larkspur and Scott’s Valley bowl. The air was fresh, flowers and butterflies and only the faintest sounds of the distant highway. A few dog walkers, and views to the Headlands and Coyote Ridge, above Green Gulch, Diablo and Richmond; perfect for running – and mostly downhill.
I crossed the Camino Alto half-way down the south side – right at the short steeper section I know so well from many climbs – and made my way down to the other part of the old rail route, before looping round and finding the fire road that took me very quickly over to the Corte Madera side. I knew the distances involved would not be that great – though it was still a decent work-out – but it totally re-wired my mental geography of the area.

IMG_E0394.jpgI took my phone with me to ride the Bay Trail, as I was uncertain of the route. This is not a section I would be in a hurry to ride again, but it was kind of amazing to be out there, with views of China Camp and Mount Tam.

East Wind, West Wind

I was thinking of Hongzhi’s phrase ‘like spring arising in everything’ as the title for this post while I was driving up to Wilbur on Friday. The sky was mostly optimistic blue with bright clouds, there was a sense of burgeoning, with the luminous greens of the hills, and, in the Capay Valley, not just endless almond trees in blossom, but also bright carpets of blossoms under the trees. The redbuds were not quite there, and the creeks were running fiercely; on the hillsides there were gullies running, and signs of slides everywhere. I felt like I was done with the rain, that I had got good value out of my rain gear this winter, but it was time for spring.

I knew the forecast was not as hopeful as I was – Saturday was drear, and it rained or drizzled most of the way through the chilly day. And then Sunday was the same, until the afternoon, when the wind started to pick up from the east, and the sky started to clear. I ran on Friday afternoon, up the waterlogged trails, my first run in almost three weeks and I felt a little rusty. That night my occasional foot tendon pain flared up into a constant throbbing that impacted my sleep; I might have been tempted to run again, even at the risk of further injury (I had barely noticed while I had been running, though I was stiff afterwards) but I hadn’t brought a rain jacket to run in. Instead I read and rested, and since I had some writing to do, took care of that, and editing the many hundreds of photos from the Mountain Seat weekend.

I was totally thrown by the clock change on Sunday – I knew it was coming, but had not realised it would be that weekend. My watch said one time, my laptop another, and the three clocks at Wilbur disagreed with each other. I remembered a time when I had been in Istanbul by myself about thirty years ago, and was flying back on the day I knew the clocks were going back in England. My Turkish wasn’t good enough to find out if it was also happening there, and the people who could speak to me in English weren’t so sure themselves, so I just left for the airport several hours ahead of when I needed to, just to be sure.
Luckily I had it straightened out this time before the morning meditation, though a couple of people who had intended to come ended up missing it. Since I had Shinshu’s book with me, I took the opportunity to talk about Uji at the end of the sitting, though I don’t think Dogen said anything specifically about daylight savings. I had good numbers of people coming all weekend, and mostly very solid sitters. I hope that the next time I am there, at the end of April, it will be warm enough for the screens to be off the yoga deck. I might have missed the redbuds though.

On the way out the road was as treacherously slick and muddy as I can remember it, and there was one last downpour as I headed south on Sunday evening, with the later evening light feeling like another release from the long winter (I know people who have real winters will be rolling their eyes).
By the time of the Monday sit, there was unbroken blue sky for the first time in many weeks, and it was lovely to sit with the sun warming my back. I noticed, riding home, that the west wind, itself a harbinger of summer, had picked up, slowing me down.

DSCF6267.jpgDSCF6272.jpgDSCF6277The 505 and Highway 16 providing beautiful spring views.

DSCF6300Cache Creek was flowing strongly.

DSCF6306DSCF6308Compare and contrast with just a few months ago.

The Nature Of Wind

Zachary leaned over at the end of Monday’s sitting on the Embarcadero and name-checked Master Baoche. The nature of wind has been permanent recently, and there is no place it has not reached.

Overall, the weather has felt pretty exhausting this past couple of weeks. There have been days of solid rain, and days where the sky changed so quickly it was almost impossible to keep track of what was happening: one moment you could see blue skies out of the window, the next there was another lashing deluge – even hail at one stage on Friday.

Luckily I did not have many places to be last week, and on Sunday, after overnight rain, it was clear enough to ride. With my road bike still out of action, I have been continuing my sorties to the south of the city on my fixed-gear, and tried a different combination of roads this time, from Bayshore to Skyline. While the landscape is not as pretty as much of Marin, some of the roads and trails are great for peaceful riding. I was confronted with the wind on the way back north (reminding me of the first time I rode up that part of the peninsula, riding back from a YUZ weekend at Jikoji), and pummelled by it all the way from San Bruno to Golden Gate Park.

Monday, at least, was sunny; the wind was from the north, and it felt cold during the sitting, as it had last week, but there was a sense of the storms having passed. Later, when I came out from my session at the jail, it was still a little light, for the first time since the clocks went back, and an all-but-full moon was glowing over the bail bond offices on Bryant and the lighter holiday traffic.

At this rate, with the forecast looking a little more settled, we should be able to roam on Sunday afternoon, the first of the year. On Tuesday, still working at home for one more week, and with warm sun beckoning, I took a break to run around the route I had thought of, which will work nicely. I took the J-Church down to Balboa Park, looped around Ocean View and Woodside, and since I was still feeling okay, cut back from Balboa Park to Glen Canyon and home via Diamond Heights and Market. That was a good workout, with great views, not just of the ocean.

DSCF5380 copy.jpgIt has certainly been rainbow weather recently. From a ferry ride north.

Rain and Rainbows

I don’t mind the quirks of the calendar that have me going up to Wilbur only a couple of weekends after my previous visit – except for having to lean on my friends and benefactors more regularly for use of a car…
Looking at the forecast for the weekend, I packed for the rain rather than the cold, and it was drizzly as I made my way north. I was glad to have got ahead of the rain by the time I arrived. I had already decided not to run – having been out on a long hilly run in the city on Wednesday – and since it was ten degrees colder at Wilbur than in San Francisco, and the rain set in just after I arrived, I was glad to linger in the hot plunges instead.
Watching the drops bounce off the water, I remembered a time from a couple of years ago, and it occurred to me that much of the spaciousness I feel when I settle comes only after I have quelled my initial impulse to move on to the next thing (one reason I am glad that someone else was in charge of timing zazen for most of my years of practice).
The rain got heavier as the evening wore on, and I heard later that it ended up falling as snow, as it apparently had earlier in the week. In the morning there were bright clouds, passing from orange to cream before the sun came up. I didn’t jump up to take pictures when I saw it all forming – since discontinuing my Tumblr, I have noticed that I have less of an impulse to take pictures of everything. When there was a rainbow visible after John’s lovely tai chi class, though, I did grab my camera and walked a little way down to a place I had thought of photographing the busy creek, close to the gate.
After that bright interlude, there was rapidly changing blue sky and rain for the rest of the day, mostly rain, and it never got above fifty degrees. Considering that, I was happy with the number of people who came and sat; the heating on the yoga deck did not make much difference with a cold north wind blowing through the plastic sheeting.
The storm had been supposed to continue through to Sunday, but the day started clear as if it had blown itself out. Temperatures stretched in each direction – below freezing, first thing, and while the ground temperature may not have been warmer, the sun felt good for much of the day, even if the wind was still keen.
After the last of the sits, I did run, up the boggy smelter trail, and on to the ridge for the hard climbs along the spine of the ridge, in the sun and wind. Having been getting the Coyote Peak route in my body on recent visits, I hadn’t been this way for a few months, and enjoyed the views of the mountains, the valley sides, snow to the north, and the grain silos in the wide plain. As I started to make my way off the ridge, I was quite surprised to see someone running the other way. Considering how much climbing he had just done, he looked very strong; I checked he knew where he was going, which he said he kind of did, and continued my way down to the wind chimes and the long valley return. I did see him at the baths a while later, which was good, though he said he had had to bushwhack a little, which made me wonder where he had turned.
Not for the first time, I had to pour hot water on the windscreen and windows before I left, first thing on Monday morning, to melt the frost on the glass. When I got back to the city, it felt cold there as well, especially during our lunchtime sit, with the sun disappearing for most of the hour. And now another atmospheric river is apparently on its way…

Sun and raindrops looking downcreek…

.. Must mean a rainbow in the other direction.

Bright morning sun on Sunday.

Frank likes the sun, his breakfast, and his scratching post.