Early Saturday morning the sky above Spencer Alley looks like this. Foggy conditions for the laundry run.
Now we move to the Castro an hour or two later, where I am cheered to see the fog breaking up but disheartened at the butchered trees in the soulless courtyard of the local branch of the San Francisco Department of Public Health. The tops of the limbs were not even cut off cleanly, but roughly chopped in an ignominious and amateurish fashion.
All the same, there is significant consolation waiting when I reach home again and look up.