It’s the gloomiest time of the year in San Francisco — but it has a magical quality, all unto itself.
There’s something so tantalizing, so ethereal about watching the fog roll into San Francisco. It elicits as much a release as it does an envelopment — signaling the end, or beginning, of a new day. It exists as a balm to any San Franciscan who’s fortunate enough to call this maddening metropolis home; an omnipresent reminder that whatever’s salting your wounds right now, those pains, in time, shall pass; that much like the city’s consistent misty aurora, better days are inevitably on the horizon.
Feels good to be home ☺️
— karl the fog (@KarlTheFog) July 23, 2023
At that pace, there’s a chance of San Francisco having completely fog-free days are within a Millenial’s lifetime. (We can add that to the list of other natural disasters my bemoaned generation can expect, like the desertification of the Amazon and oceans swallowing of coastal cities and a mass extinction event of unheard-of proportions.)
But for now — and to help quell our pontificated anxieties — we will continue to cherish, to appreciate, to honor Fogust for all its magnificent, cathartic glory.
Cheers to you, Karl. May you keep on hazing our many early mornings and late evenings to come.