I grew up in Santa Cruz, California, and in my late twenties I lived in a trailer park just five minutes’ walk from the immense cliffs that rise directly from the Pacific shore. Though I was never a surfer, I’d wake at dawn and join them on my morning walks along the water. Nearly year-round, a thick fog blanketed the ocean at that hour. But in late summer and early fall there were always a few bright blue mornings when you could see clear to the horizon, and the sunrise lit up the clouds stretched across the sky in tones of rose and gold.