Home was an Island

Home was an island nestled in the San Francisco Bay. Early mornings were misty with dew filled lawns and foghorns calling out to early risers.   Seagulls squawked while flying low along sandy shores. With soft lights and hazy revelations, the Victorian Ladies danced in understated shadows until delicate clouds parted revealing regal intention from another time.

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Posey Tunnel

As the sun began its climb and light chased away the morning haze, the island stretched from her slumber. Streets buzzed with commuters that tried to hurry off the island before becoming entrenched in a morning rush hour. Webster street flows that suddenly stopped, all stuck in a Posey tunnel. Here and there, a horn would sound as cars crawled slowly off the isle.

Children laughed and walked to school, calling to friends along the way, making plans for recess and lunch. Hopscotch, double-dutch and foursquare, calling dibs on red rubber balls that bounced and smacked hard and pinged on the asphalt playground.

Classrooms, too close to the water, distracted young scholars from their studies as they viewed distant sailboats skimming across open waters, and daydreamed about lapping waves and castles in the sand. Salty sea air wafted through open doors and windows and enhanced their unceasing restlessness. After lunch, students watched slow moving clocks as disquieted sighs filled each room until an afternoon bell sent them scurrying to the adventures that awaited their release.

Racing home along Avenues of Trees lined in oak, pine and palm. Changing to play clothes. Afternoon decisions, what to do or where to go. Sandy beaches and Crab Cove. Woodstock or Longfellow…daisy chains and girl talk…or baseball with the boys. At least until dad arrived…dinner with the family…help mom clean the kitchen and race outside to play until street lights blinked and signaled a warning to return home before dark.

And as the island settled in for the night, lights from the city across the bay sparkled and danced on the waves. The light from the Temple rose like a beacon in the hills. The soft murmur of TV sets and the cars from one street over, moved steadily along Pacific Avenue and whispered into the avenues, offering a lullaby. Listening to the island music, happy children tired from afternoon adventures contently slept and dreamed about new adventures on another day.


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