It rained all night and the birch trees outside the window by my desk at Spencer Alley started their morning with very wet leaves. Soon they will be bare of leaves. The real autumn seemed to hold off for weeks and now is here in a rush.
All day the weather got windier and colder. Everybody on Mission Street in the afternoon looked bundled up like people back east.
But it still is San Francisco, and this brave little shop with its window full of dusty figurines and baby shower supplies piercingly reminded me that Mabel Watson Payne is still 3,000 miles away bestowing smiles on a large circle of deserving relatives.
I am sure she is doing good work there and enjoying herself, but I miss her sorely.