The skies were dry when I woke up. On the foot path I run by the bay the small puddles reflected the rising sun and two pelicans flew slow and low along the orange glassy water of the bird sanctuary. After reaching the Warming Hut and blowing my usual kiss to the Golden Gate Bridge, I couldn't decide if the run back toward the skyline was more incredibly beautiful than the run out. The hazy morning yellow of the unequivocal skyline, the tempestuous little waves smacking the shore, the blackened silhouette of a stoic egret against the brightly awakening city.
And people think I'm crazy to get up early to run.
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