I'm having breakfast on the 46th floor of the San Francisco Hilton on O'Farrell St. It's 6:30 AM and it's still dark. The city is twinkling like the lights of a Christmas tree as a jazz rendition of "Santa Baby" plays. The Golden Gate bridge stands as a lonely sentinel against the inky bay and Marin Hills. Across the Bay a million lights combine to blanket the east bay hills. In between the hills and the city the bay slowly turns lighter shades of blue to match the brightening horizon but the crown of the sky remains a majestic navy blue with one shining star as the O Holy Night becomes the magical morning.
