The past week has seen the kind of endless blue skies that I do not get tired of in San Francisco; they are common enough (for all that it has been a wet winter), but there have been some recent days where, unlike recent weeks especially, the wind barely blew, and that is a rarer occurrence. Such days are not as clear as those where the north wind dries out the dust and allows the eye to reach further (like the times you can see all the way to Point Reyes), but they are most enjoyable.
Last weekend I offered two roams, on Saturday the regular kind, and on Sunday, the Airbnb version, pretty much for the first time since the turn of the year. On top of Mountain Davidson, in stark contrast to last year’s cold gusts, it was balmy and still; on Tank Hill, nothing to disrupt the comfort of sitting on the exposed slopes. Blossoms are out; sweet-smelling ceanothus, poppies, wild irises and other common flowers whose names I have not held onto, were in profusion. Red-tails are circling the valley thermals, and when we settled down for the Monday sitting on the Embarcadero, we were closely investigated by a hummingbird for a few minutes. I was in shorts and short sleeves, and did not worry about getting cold.
The usual cast of characters – the man who waves at everyone (and gets surprisingly few responses); the man who struts angrily around (who ran behind us this week, and re-emerged a few moments later with a lacrosse stick, though luckily he didn’t seem ready to follow his strong language and aggressive energy with any actual blows); the array of joggers and runners; the lunchers; the dog-walkers, mothers, fathers and other child-minders – were joined by a greater than usual number of promenaders enjoying the warmth of spring.
At the time of writing, it is due to rain on Wednesday, the first day of spring, as well as Friday, and through next week, so I will just have to practice with my preferences, and remember the gifts of impermanence.
Looking down on the city from Mount Davidson on Saturday.