The mountain camouflaged in the glowing textured greens of Indian summer. Blending in, making itself into another small piece of the puzzle of beauty. Each day this week so far, the light seems to be getting brighter and stronger, just as the sun is taking less time to draw its illusionary arc of day across the horizon. But maybe that’s just it: now that the bounty of light we took for granted during the summer is growing shorter in supply, what remains is that much richer, that much brighter.
If memory serves me well, the light of morning was as bright a day short of 23 years ago, the day of the Loma Prieta earthquake that cracked the walls of my first house in which, back then I was a young mother, filled with pride and a seemingly unshakable sense that my brand new happiness was as solid and enduring as the ground on which I had transplanted my two feet.