San Francisco Seasons

All around the country Americans experience the passing of time by noting the changes in the seasons. They pass through a living clockwork, marking time in the color of the leaves or the freshness of the ice. But not in San Francisco. Nature condemned her to a perpetual indian summer wedged precariously between two fog banks.

Since the seasons cannot be measured by the change in the leaves, in San Francisco, it is measured by the change in the hipsters whose new fashion fads come rolling in with a trickle and steadily build to a torrent by high season. Leaving San Franciscans nothing but to gather together around the hearth and comment on what a long bearded-hipster it was this year, or I hope cheap-white-sunglasses-hipster is dry so we can get the corn in by the 4th.