High on a Hill: The Fog
The blanket that tucks the City in most every night makes the entire month of July a great time to listen to Billie Holiday recordings and think about the blues that make you happy. The fog makes every day seem like comfort food that comes to the door special delivery around five o'clock, depending on what part of town you call your own. Indeed, writers have more metaphors than creditors when it comes to describing the San Francisco fog. The American poet Carl Sandburg wrote perhaps the best known ode to San Francisco's famous fog as follows:

"The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on."

Cats are okay, but when Mister SF sees the fog coming in over the Gate Bridge from the Marina, he's reminded of King Kong, the beast's fingers gently wrapped around the Empire State Building. No matter how you look at it, the fog is San Francisco's mood ring. Here's another shade.


The City's foghorns wail in a variety of sounds. There are sirens (single pitch contralto), the air horn (single pitch baritone), and the diaphone (various sounds, 200 decibels at max power.)

Listen to the haunting sound of San Francisco's foghorns!

Copyright 2002 Hank Donat
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