orthogonal Fort Mason
A series of images from yesterday afternoon...
As if frozen in time, and in the act of disappearing through the seemingly-solid-but-actually-transparent wall here at the far end of Fort Mason where the old wharves sit watching the old prison island, the brigantine Galilee sails out of history and into memory. But of whose, is now unclear; the National Park Service might be the official archiver of its past, but all who once sailed the schooner are now surely ghosts walking along this wall in broad daylight just as I am now, and have memories of their own to dwell upon, not having to do with their time on the ship.
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Around the bend some couple dozen paces from the Galilee's stern, past the historic Firehouse (now a community and event space where I've seen weddings, memorials, poetry readings) is the bluff at Black Point; where illicit and scraggly paths wind steeply up the cliff, attracting those of a certain cavalier cast of mind and a penchant for desire paths: making them, or walking them...
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