Angels sing leather wings
Jeans of blue Harley Davisons too
On a warm San Francisco night
Old angels young angels feel alright
On a warm San Francisco night.
Its 8pm - the sun is setting. A clear sky with all the hues of the rainbow with red in the northwest over the city, through indigo and to a deep, dark blue over San Jose. An endless procession of red and white lights heading down 101 as people head back home... or to work... or out to dinner. Silicon valley seems to have a work day that ends a few hours later than most
places.
To the west, a bank of fog rolls in over the hills and mountains. A slow motion waterfall of fog pours over the peaks. Ever so slowly waves move down the hillside.
Overhead, a line of airplanes can be seen - lining up as they come in to San Francisco airport. Each one waiting for its place in line, a line that stretches a hundred miles in the sky. Lights on wings moving slowly against a background of
stars just beginning to be seen.
Downtowns of the cities all along the bay begin to humm with life. People walking down the street in the warmth of the evening, window shopping and eating ice cream. Laughter and music pour from the pubs as long, tense days are unwound
over a cold pint or smooth whiskey.