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ANGEL_ISLAND

                                    October 6, 2003

The east and west halves of our gang
sail from opposite sides of the bay
to meet at Angel Island.

I go to the touristific
snack shack by the harbor
and then consider just
getting back on the boat.

   "Sure, I've been to Angel
   Island.  I bought a latte'
   there."

Really, I lead a charge up into
the hills along the perimeter
trail, doing a fast hike to the
North East side of the island.
Yup, panoramic views of bay
bridge, SF, and golden gate
bridge.  Such is the theme park
I call home.

    We look down from the
    cliff onto a tiny
    beach, a large black
    seal-like creature
    frolicking off-shore.

                 Camping scheme
                 hypotheticals
                 are discussed.


When we finally leave harbor,
we manage to get totally
becalmed behind the island.
We stare at the wind line an
eighth of a mile away,
manually flapping the rudder
and mainsail, without
budging.  Eventually we
cheat, and start the motor.


One of the crew had a strange
destination in mind that the
rest of us had a hard time
crediting: a show of fire
works in the harbor.  But for
what?  Is this the beginning
of fleet week?  A radio
station promo?  Did Bush
Jr. decree a new holiday we
hadn't heard about?

   They let us sail up closer
   to the barge than any of us
   would've imagined.  The fireworks
   explode into space over our heads,
   sometimes directly over us.

   
   Expanding           
   pointillist         
   spheres of        I like the
   color             purple and
                     green the       
                     best, as      
                     usual.         
                             
Many of the effects              
are new to us:

   Loud banging flashes that
   continue to subdivide,
   fractally bifurcating with a
   pattering rain stick sound

      White round capped streamers
      with wide tails, slowly
      shimmering through the air,
      like an army of ghosts.



Night long since fallen,
we sail toward the Golden
Gate bridge: a string of
soft orange lights coming
through the mist, leading
us into harbor.

Fog obscures the tops of
the art deco orange
towers... bottom-lit,
gigantic, a now-ancient     They look like a
style of Modern.            bad movie special
                            effect

                               "Burton-Man does Frisco"

We ghost slowly into
the berth without using
the engine.

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