Martin and I took a walk yesterday, to San Francisco National Cemetery in the Presidio. There were over 30,000 thousand flags snapping in the brisk wind: one on each grave, others on the many flagpoles that dot this beautiful 29-acre park, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.
On the way there, we talked about our projects. We are writers who work out of our home. Despite the proximity of our workplace, the actual act of what we do is a solitary endeavor. These walks are the way in which we catch up.
Like our walks, our conversations take winding paths. Because of our destination, our conversation turned to the soldiers we knew and our hopes and prayers for their safety. In fact, one’s mother is someone you know, too: Karin Tabke.