This sidewalk shrine outside Mission Dolores cemetery has always been recently attended to – no matter how early in the morning I pass it on any given weekend (while ambitiously getting the laundry done and out of the way before any normal people are awake, so as to be free and unencumbered later on when more alluring activities begin to offer themselves). Somebody plucks and scatters those devotional blossoms. Somebody buys and lights those candles, but I never see who. It is like one of those fairytale banquets laid out by invisible hands, all savory and steaming, unattended.
