A Morning on Fort Hill

Some mornings begin with a climb to the summit of Fort Hill, where the world unfurls in unexpected beauty. On one such morning, I reached the peak to find white fog draped delicately over Bear Mountain, the Highlands, and the Hudson River—a scene both haunting and familiar. The vista was breathtaking, transporting me back to the fog-laden mornings of San Francisco, a city that once held my heart. Nostalgia settled in, blending past and present as I stood in Peekskill—a place I have come to cherish for its river views, its rugged hills, its blend of cultures, and the kind-heartedness of its people—most of the time, anyway.

That morning, Fort Hill had its own additions to the view. The new red outdoor chairs at the Abby Hotel & Spa stood out against the natural backdrop, their bold hue lending a quiet sophistication to the scene. I admired the decorator’s choice—it was rare to see something so deliberate yet seamlessly harmonized with the rugged beauty of the hilltop.

After soaking in the scenery, I resumed my run, letting gravity pull me downhill toward the Riverfront. The fog remained my silent companion, cloaking the Hudson in a soft, dreamlike haze. It demanded my attention, and I obliged—stopping to capture its fleeting beauty. But eventually, I shook off its quiet allure and carried on, winding along the waterfront. I paused again, this time to stretch on one of the floating docks, the river’s gentle rhythm a soothing counterpoint to my movements.

Then, an unexpected reunion. A friend I hadn’t seen in ages appeared, equally captivated by the fog-laden morning. Our paths converged effortlessly, leading us downtown together. We spent the morning in easy camaraderie, even stopping to film a young man in a black embroidered peasant skirt—a moment that, intentional or not, carried the spirit of Pride Month in Peekskill.

As the morning unfolded, my thoughts drifted toward the fiction I’ve been nurturing in my mind. It lingers—always present, elusive, waiting for the right moment to take shape. I know it will come together when the time is right. For now, it remains a quiet companion to my days, much like the fog that morning—a source of inspiration, waiting to be transformed into something lasting.

And then, Robbie the Raccoon. He arrived in the back courtyard after I’d left food out for the outdoor neighborhood cats, Daisy and Pesawari—who, unimpressed, rejected my attempt at generosity. The food was so terrible I couldn’t stomach it, one of my-best boyfriends couldn’t eat it, but Robbie, unfazed, tore into it with enthusiasm. And that—oddly enough—made me happy.

Views of the morning fog enveloping the Hudson River and the Highlands, as seen from the of Fort Hill.

​Misty vistas encountered while jogging along the Hudson River's river.

A floating dock on the Hudson River that we used for stretching after jogging.

The boy in the peasant skirt

Robbie the Raccoon partakes in a meal in courtyard.