We’re getting better weather, or at least different, than last week’s wildfire smoke drifting south from upstate tinting our sunsets. When a photo editor sounded a wild-art all-call, I sent in a few shots like this to show the layered evening light under marine layer wisps, and a flare played tag.

I don’t know how to feel better every time I want to, but getting up to belt out a tune can help. Some folks get it in the car behind the wheel or in the shower stall, but a stage and a microphone make it real and somehow change things for me. Even, especially, if it’s not good, it’s still good.

A day in the life is never typical, is it? I got to ride vintage vehicles deployed for this weekend’s Muni heritage days event. I saw vintage vehicles, including a 1975 flyer trolley coach, as well as a green and cream 1950 trolley coach that leisurely looped over to North Beach from Ferry Plaza.

Today involved a usual quiet jaunt to drop off A., and then the road home, listening to The Sea And Cake. I went in on the leftover work I’d done, and wound up finishing this year’s songwriting challenge. I might even have enough puff to get fifty of my own done in the week that’s left.

It’s a season, a practice, a strategy and a component to any and all rises, heights and peaks. It’s not lost on me, yesterday’s visit to the edge of the city where clean air and steady waves hit differently, followed by today’s focus and production. I should figure out how to fall more often.

Disruption wasn’t on the menu this morning, but it’s been on my mind before and since a meeting, not only because it surrounds me in offices and conferences, but on baser levels. When I go out in the world, how I conduct myself and carry out duties, where I go, what I tell people: all are in play.

The air would not be spared, the fires up north could not be convinced to send its smoke elsewhere, so our sunset crept slowly toward the horizon’s edge through a queasy gray haze while wispy harbingers of a strong marine layer floated in from the southwest at a steady clip, and it was like that.

The fabric of things seems more beautiful and fragile during the last week, turning on random pigment splashed against scalps and tossing against the sky overhead or the waves underneath the bridge or against the shoreline, an ever changing canvas stretched against the frame of perception.

I never know if my week will start off smoothly, rides and meals notwithstanding. Intense is always in the air and around the corner. Yes, there’s a pretty lake on the way to a sunny meadow, but the buzz from the neighborhood street festival and attendant ambient enforcement vibes are still there.

When they asked me to go around the back to pick up my order, I didn’t think much of it. But when I got to the spot, I saw the front door covered with wood. Had someone tried to break in? Oof! At the back, a guy was negotiating a large order of chicken and fish. I paid for my wings and headed on.