“It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road
05 June, 2012
Back from a great weekend with family in one of the most beautiful places on earth. In the glow of my big brother's identical laugh, Maggie's kind and gentle beauty, nieces laughing, handstands in the pool and local wine at the tops of mountains, I realized: family is made up of far more than blood, it is made of an infinite collection of the tiniest of moments just like these.