Fall makes me feel very romantic. It’s all the sweaters, steaming mugs of tea and snuggle-worthy weather. Of course, fall comes late to San Francisco — we tend to get our best weather at the end of September/beginning of October — but when it does arrive, it’s perfect. The fog disappears. There’s a slight chill in the air, but it’s never too cold. The air smells better. People start using their fireplaces again. The maple tree outside our window turns yellow, red and then orange. I start craving pumpkin spice everything.
The bike ride home from the train station has been getting colder and colder. The other night, Kelly and I stopped on the Embarcadero — right before the hill on North Point — to warm up with some chowder and mussels at Pier 23. The heaters were going outside, so we huddled in their covered patio and sipped frothy beers, talking and soothing away the worries of the day.
We rode our bikes home after — just the tiniest bit buzzed — foggy breath getting stronger as we made our way up the hill. Sweaty but still smiling when we got home.
It was one of those randomly perfect fall nights. The San Francisco equivalent of an handheld autumn walk through Central Park (sort of).