Fog comes on little cats’ feet….

It’s a fine soft day, as that Irish fella would say, but it reminds me of Nantucket, rather than the Emerald Isle (although neither makes sense here in the urban area). It’s the kind of weather that feels chill without snapping because it’s so water-logged that it moves gently, making even the most sallow of us pink cheeked.

I think the Nantucket angle is purely personal–I spent a week there once when the weather was like this every day and every night, never quite raining (except for one afternoon storm), never truly light although it was summer. Other times I’ve been there, the weather’s been a bit–only a bit–more varied, but I remember living for eight days straight in a raincoat that never got so wet that it couldn’t be put on immediately again to go out after coming in.

The difference in latitude between here and my last 20 years seems dramatic right now: it’s light so late and already so early, whereas Oakland days stretch less far at either end year round.

In the paper, there are articles about the concert happening in Coachella, where, of course, fog would be an amazing accident. Date shakes, yes, fog, no.

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