I've come to memorize the way the light falls across the city each day, twice a day. Riding the bus to work, I look out the window to watch the sunrise inch over the horizon, leaving Alcatraz and the Bay Bridge and the city skyline in a murky golden haze. And then, at night, just after we've crossed the Golden Gate and left the city in our wake, I make a point to turn back and take in the view. As we near the rainbow tunnel in Marin, I spin around in my seat for that take-your-breath-away blue of the bay.
All this is to say that I love my commute. I really do. That hour in and that hour out, it's the only time when I find myself completely tuned out, sitting quietly with nothing but a view — a gorgeous view — and the scenes of my book-in-progress playing out in my head. There's just something about the rhythm and routine of that everyday drive, that coming and going, isn't there?