This morning I’m grateful for the rain-scented just-washed streets of early downtown San Francisco; the quiet resonance in my office after two nights in a row of deep, engaged, risky writing; the view of both the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate bridge from the BART windows as we approached West Oakland station; the little girl giggling uncontrollably in a packed BART car while she played make-believe hide and seek with her daddy, bringing giggles up to my lips and the lips of other passengers as well, breaking down through some of those early morning pre-caffeinated heading-to-a-day-job-blues sorts of walls…
at the intersection of trauma and desire
