On today’s morning walk there’s nothing as morally challenging, or as interesting, as a handsome man in cycling shorts. Instead, there is a humbling grandeur—I apologize, but that’s the word for it. If I took a photograph you would think it was fake. The winter-white mountains, the fog, and the wide thawing mudflats in the silver light all combine for an Ansel Adams-style image that could be Yosemite at the beach. It is the sort of dawn when all is right with the world. If I see my fisherman friend JR walking his dogs, he’ll say in his Bronx accent, “I wonder what the rich people are looking at this morning.”

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