San Francisco has a sense of humor. Not because I found anything particularly funny about it, but because it has a light-hearted buoyancy despite a perpetual dampness that is neither humid nor heavy.
This charm, to be decidedly youthful, makes the rolling fog – which appears to be urgent and aggressive, as if it is going to miss a scheduled appointment – nothing but a mist to moisturize your skin.
Even the spook of the sutro baths at Land’s End, ruins from another recreational time, have the spirit of a friendly ghost: fun was had here. There is no haunting, and while I am not familiar with Frisco’s history, I am enamored that on the clear blue days, how sunlight shines its sidewalks and reflects back all its diverse colors, pastel or otherwise.
Isn’t that the purpose of light? It’s magical when a city is a prism. And it’s cute when the fog tries to obscure, but knows that it can’t; an A+ effort that admits it’s just part of the show.
Inspired Scribble 