I live in a part of the country renowned for its lack of seasons. It's sunny and dry until it starts to rain in November, and then the hills turn vivid green, and it rains until March, and then it's sunny and dry again. Except of course in San Francisco, where the ocean air rubs up against the sweltering heat of the central valley, and it is foggy all summer long.
But in my little corner of the bay area, we have these brief glimpses of that illusive season, autumn:
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