It's just turning to fall in San Francisco, which means a return to the rain. It hasn't started yet, but everyone knows: arrival is imminent. First off, there is the moist air. You can feel the flecks of water brush past like aloof new yorkers. You want to stop and say something to the first one or two, but when you turn around, you can't find them. The individuals are lost in a sea of general cool.

In spite of the damp, the change is invigorating. What is it about fall that has always made people mischievous? This is whiskey-drinking weather. Ghoul and goblin weather. The kind of weather that makes you want to gulp in big throatfuls of cool wet life because you suddenly realize — there's only a few more weeks left before winter.

I looked up into the hills this morning and saw dark, brooding storm clouds piling over them. They almost looked like they were about to pounce. Off to the other side, the unsuspecting bay was as blue as ever.

It's the contrast, I think. Putting summer and winter in such stark relief is nature's little trick to get us to live a little.

Ah, fall. Bring the rain. But give us a few good nights for mischief first, please.