THE SUN DOESN’T STAY.

The bright 9:30am sunlight streamed in through the small oval window as the plane slowly pulled up to the gate. Around me I heard a mix of sounds: seat-belted passengers rustling through the bags in their laps, and the pilot's monotone instructions aired over the muffled speaker. I always found it strange when people would rush to grab their carry-ons from the overhead compartments, only to stand in the aisle for several more minutes while every other row ahead of them had to clear out first. Impatience disguised as cleverness, I guess.

I turned my phone off of airplane mode and watched the location under my name turn from Washington, DC to San Francisco, CA. That's one of my favorite parts of touching down in a new destination. Though I wouldn't call San Francisco new.

All the texts from my titas came flooding in at once. "Bri, the kids will pick you up. Make sure to give them your itinerary," one text said. "What are the plans for this weekend?" read another. "Welcome home! Glad you're here." My eyes stayed on that last message, welcome home. A thought flashed through my mind — in two weeks I'd be on another flight, back to the city I was just in six hours ago. I huffed out a breath, shooing the thought away, and let the corners of my mouth pull into a grin instead.

I looked out the window one more time, the wind blowing across the bay. Then I reached for my bag and walked toward the exit at a faster pace than necessary, already anticipating the slight chill in the air that always meant I was back in the city.

The San Francisco of my childhood had more foggy days than clear ones. Driving along the coast by Ocean Beach and weaving through the city streets lined with Victorian houses always happened under that same chilly gray. But this time they were basking underneath sunlight that seemed to make a special appearance for my entire stay. My family mentioned in passing that the weather hadn't been this consistently warm and sunny in a while.

Golden Gate Park was turned up to full brightness that afternoon, on one of the last days of the trip. We spread the pink and purple woven blanket across the grass and slipped off our shoes before taking a seat. We'd picked up burritos from somewhere in the Mission and a pain au chocolat from a bakery off Dolores Park. The spicy sauce started to creep up on my tongue as I chewed, squinting under the sun at the grass. I reached for one of those tiny daisies that you make flower chains with and tucked it behind my ear, out of habit. I used to make bouquets with those same daisies as a little girl, back when my family went on picnics here too. There are photos of my sister and me, geared up in helmets and knee pads, riding scooters across an overexposed sidewalk. The gear was bulky and a bit oversized, the helmets in particular sitting the tiniest bit crooked on our heads. The sun was so bright that day, even the camera knew. I took a photo of the flower in my hair.

With less than a week left, I drove down the coast by myself, craving a few hours of quiet before the trip folded in on itself. I pulled the car up to the parking spot closest to the entrance. Surfers in wetsuits were unloading their boards and rushing down to the beach to catch the last waves of the day. Wearing two jackets and with my camera in hand, I headed down too. I'd seen photos of this place before when a field of fuchsia flowers was in bloom. The wind blew stronger as I approached the shore. The sun was gradually making its descent into the ocean horizon. Seagulls were soaring across the blue that faded into pink that faded into orange. Couples wrapped in blankets and families lounging in folding chairs were watching the light change too. In between shots I shoved my hands into my pockets, giving my fingers the shortest respite from the wind almost freezing them over. The sunset tones transformed into something like a painter's palette. Blue becoming indigo, pink becoming magenta, orange becoming amber. I captured a few more shots of the surfers paddling out towards the waves before hurrying back up to the lot. Following the winding roads through forest and along coastline was manageable in daylight. I wasn't so sure about finding my way back in the dark. I turned on my camera and flipped through the images I'd taken already. I fished the car keys out of my pocket. Taking one last glance back at the beach, my eye drifted off to the side where that field of flowers was supposed to be. It was green instead of fuchsia.

The 7am sunlight flickers through the African talisay tree outside the bedroom window, and gets filtered again through the sheer curtain before hitting my eyelids. I open my eyes but then close them again, rolling over in bed. I flip over the sheets and make my way to the kitchen. The view from the window is a bright sky, with large, gray clouds in the distance, typical of rainy season. I pull my matcha ceramics from the shelf and make my morning latte.

I let the mug warm my hands and watch the steam rise, with the window in the background. The gray clouds drift slowly. After taking a long sip I move closer so the sun warms my skin. The moment I set down the mug, I catch the smallest glint of light too.