I saw the lady....

draped in ghostly white... bathed in the warmth and golden glow of the dying day. I was inside my metal wheeled-box, traveling among strangers on a concrete pillared road... seemingly at the speed of sound though it was not.

I often think of this woman, so restful is she that never to awake she - sitting atop a mountain so far...

yet so near to my heart and to my soul.

As a youth I had sketched her and now as an adult, I have photographed her.... there she lies, unchanged throughout my life... I, changed in my many decades of years tossed past me, and she: still there in her glory...

in her peace.

As my transport of cold metal took me across the Bay Bridge, I saw her again, and as the strangers before me slowed, slow must I also transit this same path, and in knowing this, grabbed my camera from behind me.

She is embedded into my mind of centuries past....

But never can I remember her looking so glorious as she did tonight....

So, with my heavy camera in one hand, and my other steering my vehicle, I unseeingly pointed my weapon of choice at her corpse and stole an image of her....

draped in fog....