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End of the Trail


And now front the hill tops on a bright morning when the still first touches the tops of the domes, see the city glow in rose and gray. See it in its noonday splendor, the travertine rich buff and the domes amber and bronze against the clear blue sky. See it at sunset when the sun, with lingering fingers, touches the golden balls and the slender spires and seems to leave it reluctantly to steal away into the shadows.

It is most lovely in the fading light when Tamalpais across the bay takes on the rich purple tone we love so well and the hues on the hills blend into the velvet skies above; and our beloved bay changes into the inky blue that is the forerunner of the night.

See this Dream City of ours when the fog rolls over it, trailing its long wraith-like tendrils over the walls and through the foliage that rims the buildings. See the domes rise above it, to be again submerged. Perhaps we who live here love it best this way. See it again at night with all its glories mirrored in the silent waters. Go stand before the Art Palace and see its mighty walls and fairy-like columns and the lonely little Vestal by the altar. See all this reflected in the waters of the lagoon and pray that all this vision of beauty may not pass from your minds as these radiant shadows from the pool.

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