There's something so dreamy and romantic about San Francisco when the fog crawls in on a sunny day. It slinks through the bridge and curls around cars before blanketing the bay — a soft stripe of white between the bluest of blues, the cerulean water and sky. And with just the slightest, barely-there view of the bridge through the fog, it's the sort of sight that takes you outside yourself, you know? When you come through the tunnel, curve along the Marin Headlands, and make your way toward the city, it's the sort of sight that makes you stop and breathe, really breathe, because you feel that rare, wonderful blend of awe and ease and nostalgia for the now. My favorite of feelings.