Paul Berens


“When that fog horn blows / You know I will be coming home / Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows / I gotta hear it / I don’t have to fear it.” (—Van Morrison)

Fog is the charm of San Francisco: rolling through the hills, hanging high in the eucalyptus trees, shrouding cityscapes, and keeping it nice ‘n’ cool for running and cycling.

Golden Gate Bridge shrouded in fog