El Cerrito, California

This is a serene, blue-collar neighborhood of thin-walled houses with windows that quiver like wind chimes. Here, the evening haze is sugary and pale. It is several colors at once: spun-candy blue, spiderweb silver, and yellow like the whisper of an old lace ghost. In summertime, it smells of heavy sweating flowers and the slowly melting sea. Because nothing on the water lasts forever, there is a sense in this community of a long, drawn-out grace period, an acknowledgment of intervals.

There are people living here, and little creatures, too. A fat skunk with a frazzled tail lopes hunchbacked past a short thick wall of hedges, then climbs casually onto someone’s porch. It stands there blinking underneath the light expectantly, as if it’s waiting for someone to open the door, or for a crowd to burst into applause.