Dear Brandeis community,
Some of you may have heard that my family was waylaid coming back from Paris, and a Saturday return became Sunday, then Monday, then finally midnight on Tuesday. I have never been so glad to see the dark shoulders of these hills stretching up to welcome us home, as we dropped down onto 280 South from 101. There are worse places to be stuck than Paris, as many people have reminded us—and certainly that is a deeply true statement of the obvious—but as a friend reminded me yesterday, what a gift it is to come home to this amazing city as well.
Yesterday, I took this video of our students practicing to sing the National Anthem before the Giant’s game, out in front of the statue of Willie McCovey, serenading his cove. The particular light of the moment, the bay stretching out in slate, a flat mirror to the choral lilt, brought my mind to “The Changing Light” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (who just turned 99!). I will leave his words with you as mine, for this week:
The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o’clock
sweeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean
Wishing you all weekends full of vales and drifts of light, in this magical city of ours.
Warmly,
Dan