to Saturday, 5:45 a.m.

charcoal shadows blanket the city,

each house still tucked in and hidden from the ebony night.

it’s an uneasy and unusual feeling—

stillness covers the once-bustling streets,

stirring silence almost too perfect, a rarity of its own.

with dark pink clouds and deep orange along your horizon,

you bring promise of morning light and new beginnings

to those sleeping heads under your watch.

with love,


to the San Francisco fog.

your grey haze casts over us

for what feels like everyday, all the time. 

you make the neighborhood’s colored houses a little brighter

and the occasional tree or flower patch a little more vibrant. 

your absence ensures every city-dweller to never take blue skies for granted–

pale skin absorbing golden rays,

no longer concealed by sweaters and scarves and coats. 

lazy quiet afternoons hidden indoors are a necessity with you,

which are best accompanied by

a warm baking oven and thoughts scribbled along lined paper. 

You’re sluggish and muggy,

but you make a sourdough grilled cheese taste like heaven. 

with love,