Remembering the useful days and childhood times,
When the sort of reaching this megacity was just a dream.
Now, here, I am walking the streets of San Francisco
On a bright afternoon, walking between the Ocean and the Bay
From Avenue to Avenue day after day.
The weather plays truant here in the city,
Making right the quip of Mark Twain :
The coldest winter is the summer in San Francisco.
Walking and speech-texting poetry despite the cold
Sounds odd? Yet is there a limit?
To fatty sentiments being of armchair evenings
Or only of nocturnal moments of relaxation.
Sentiments evoked on a walk in the streets,
Full of life with colourful movements,
Of young and old from school, on way back home
Shop windows lit on the way, traffic lights at every block.
Someone picking up a full can on the street corner,
The thriftiness of life is universal, and the struggle to live too.
People getting into homes and getting out
Into fitness centres and out into the Balbao Park
The children playing soccer on and off fields
Pedestrians waiting by the traffic lights to cross
Dozens and scores each walking their miles.
Garages open; cars get in and out
Scooters and E-bikes on the pavement
As they say, four seasons in a day,
Nothing like walking in the sunshine,
Having a girly good time
Walking back in a drizzle that nearly drenches a while.
Well, different slopes of imagination
Poetic moments.