San Francisco, 5:15 p.m.
It felt quiet in San Francisco last night. It was the first work day since time fell forward on Sunday and by 4, the cold edges of the evening were already creeping in. By 5, the city was growing blue with darkness. Temperatures dropped a few days earlier, and together with the light, the crowds downtown seemed hushed, almost preoccupied with themselves — sort of like when first snow falls and the whole world goes muffled from the covering; people walk slowly from the awe and from the fear of falling (though we don’t have any of this here).
It was cold — I could feel it in my fingers — and I watched people walk toward me in their light California jackets with their arms hugging their own bodies for warmth or with their hands dug deep into their pockets.
I look forward to these days in a similar way that I loved Chicago. It means coming home in darkness and hands numbed with cold. You’ll get a headache and realize that it’s actually your ears burning from the chill. But it’s so nice to be inside.
I think the beginning of fall (or is it winter here?) might be starting.