City Life: Inner Sunset Fog

A staircase on my street

Today's beauty was all about fog and water. The City was wrapped in filmy droplets. Though not thick enough to obscure completely nor drippy enough to cause a drizzle, fog whirled and dipped low in my neighborhood. The streets were wet and shiny, the fog brought along scents of moss, juniper, Douglas Fir, and a floral here and there (I live up the street from a community garden and a Christmas Tree lot). I hadn't realized how scent likes to catch a ride on fog until this afternoon.

The usual black outlines of bare trees, power poles, and telephone lines stood in muted dark gray down the block. Stands of trees fencing the steep hill behind my apartment swirled with romantic mists, caressing tree bark and leaf alike. Water dripped. It's cool but mild, a delicate humidity. A warm day by a resident's standards.

I drove out of the City in the evening and watched as headlights from oncoming cars played tricks against the concrete freeway divider. It looked like the commuting cars were belching and coughing smoke but it was merely a visual trick of headlights, fog, and the occasional tree.

No rain today.

It's suitably quiet outside even with the random motorcycle rider roaring far away and the 36 bus. The window is open and I smell the fog, the wet, the green, traces of earth, even hints of the ocean as I sit here in my apartment. The dog wants to go out for her evening walk. The night beckons gently.