An Extraordinarily Foggy Night

The fog was heavy tonight, hitting the skies and enveloping the city just as I got off the 280 north heading towards Sausalito. Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, visibility was barely twenty feet in some spots, the cables hanging from the bridge coming into view only for a second before I whizzed by them. Getting closer to Sausalito, the fog was starting to burn off in some spots, the brightly lit sun beaming through it, making for a brilliant array of yellows against the varying shades of grey tinged with blue competing against it, rendering the trees an ominous dark green.

It was beautiful.

Once I arrived at home, Taylor and I went for a nice, long walk amidst quite a cool night, the fog casting an eerie glow where I felt like we were transported to the cobblestone streets of Victorian age London, a nostalgic memory into movies past of street lamps, candle-lit windows, horse-drawn carriages and a slight mist playing against the fog and lights.

And while we were decidedly not in jolly old England, the hills of Sausalito provided its own charm against this most wonderful of nights.

It was beautiful.

When we arrived back home, we were greeted by the same billy goats we met in the morning. We’re quite sure that it was one of them that cursed the Cubbies all those years back. We tried in vain to get the culprit to reverse the curse. The Cubbies are doing well so far, so maybe it’s working. The billy goats were eating the dead brush from the hills upon which my building sits, bleeting their way to a full stomach.

Taylor wanted to play.

It just goes to show you. Tonight may have been just an ordinary night, but when Taylor and I really thought about it as we were living it, it most certainly felt extraordinary.

Shouldn’t that be how we live every moment of our lives?
Extraordinarily?