California cool

It’s a good 10 degrees cooler in the Berkeley where I arrived than the halifax that I left.  In between was a stunningly pristine view of Montreal from the air: the patchwork of farms, the twisting ribbons of rivers, and closer to landing the bridges.

I made it from SFO in record time, entertained–well, only slightly–along the way by a crew from West Virginia who pronounced the little boxes of Daly City to be “cute old houses.”  Sometimes it does seem as though all the world’s minor events conspire to contribute to a single narrative…as I was en route to Parker Street while listening to them.

The locals here were complaining of the heat–which, being Northern California coast in the summer is not only essentially only h-o-t=warm but also dry…no sweatballs swarming along the streets as has been the case back in Halifax across the past week.

It’s good to be on the ground after a literal day in the air. It’s good to be where summer heat means 74–that would be 22–and not 30 (90). It’s good to be where there’s bread and late summer tomatoes and overblown roses that still smell heady and friends who work around hip problems, computer problems and raccoon invasions with enough energy left to answer their phones and rise at 5 am and require only one day’s plan at a time.


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