newstalk

Notes for a flight over San Francisco at sunset.

Coming in over the white cotton-stuff cumulus banks, a break in the clouds reveals the striking red curves and peaks of the Golden Gate Bridge. The sun glows redly above the clouds, but beneath us San Francisco lies bathed in grey. In my mind’s eye, I can see the Klingon Bird of Prey even now swooping down through the fog and imagined lightning, bringing George and Gracie back to the future to save the world one more time.

I gain sight of downtown with her towers, and the other bridge, which I should know the name of since I’ve seen Sneakers so many times, but I can’t think of it just now. We dive through a bank of clouds, eclipsing the sun a moment, and soon we are banking to the West, and below the dipping wing I see a set of green hills that wriggle like a pile of snakes. I think it is a golf course, and while I don’t know much about real golf, I’m sure it must be a bear to play. We straighten out, with a view of the city in twilight, car lights on, intersections glowing red. We bank again, skimming over the water into Oakland airport, where I sit now writing this.

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