February 21, 2012, San Francisco: I wake up early this morning in a land of grayscale. Cold fog lingers here on the hill on this south slope of Broderick. The severity of San Francisco’s colors have all but disappeared. This place can change on a dime.
It won’t last, I know that by now. But I recall too that this place is not only neon greens and bursts of yellow and radiant whites and blinding sunlight. There are grays here, too. They come with the marine layer. They come with the city. They come with the coast.
We drove this weekend, in stretches and twists and turns along a cold, volatile Pacific. Cliffs ahead, farms within, ocean beyond, sand below — all passing us by in a blur of to-die-for grayscale.
Did you see what happened? Did you see the colors finally begin to pop as the sun dropped down into the water? Did you see how vibrant this city suddenly looked as we drove back east through the Richmond?
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