The sign of a first rate intelligence is the ability to hold two or more opposing ideas at one time and still function. Author unknown

Last evening Matt and I enjoyed a glass of wine at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco. We watched the sun set over the Golden Gate bridge.  I loved sitting tall, able to look over the city. I enjoyed the energy of others we were sharing the space with.  Bar hoppers, after work parties, singles looking for friendship, other couples, even two young babies.  Smiles were freely given, life was good.  Indeed.  

My last Journal entry, The World Without Us, was a lamentation about all the things we humans have built while unaware of the consequences of our efforts. Cities are built and created with untold amounts of unsustainable materials... some that will last centuries into the future, continuing to transform and morph our environment into something unknown...alien to plants, animals, and humans alike.   And yet, cities are wonderful and life giving! Mankind has known this for thousands of years; always people have gathered to form community and market places. There is something utterly contagious about cities for all of their wonder and corruption.  Could they just be good without being bad? Probably not. The diversity and magic of cities is created by the inclusion of all perspectives ... prospect and refuge. The many varieties of wealth and poverty show up equally.  Cities are to me, in reality, a miracle!

Every time I spend time in a city, I marvel at the diversity, ingenuity, squalor, extravagance, and general infrastructure of the city I find my self in.  It seems unreasonable to me that I should be able to travel by taxi from the NJ airport to Central New York city. But, I can! Everything works. Truly an engineering and cultural miracle. 

I don't consider myself to be a first rate thinker, but surely I must hold opposing ideas if I am to continue to find wonder and beauty in not only the natural made world, but the man-made one as well.   

And, of course, it is always a privilege to return to our small community called Gualala, not even an incorporated city, using roads of toxic materials build with oil products and money. Gualala was at one time a community of loggers, logging redwood trees. Today, in our yard at Elsewhere, I nourish, love and talk to the few trees now nearly a century old,  and wonder, will they be sad if there were no humans?  sigh...........