Perhaps it's just me but I found it odd that his statue is here. Ghandi standing behind the San Francisco Ferry Building, blessing the day's horizon and wire span of the suspension bridge that broke once with earthquake. Did I miss something? Did he journey here once, to this wharf where today there is a market housed in the one-time passenger hall of metal and glass, people standing in long lines for Peet's Coffee, lines no deterrent to one in need of matcha or espresso or chai, patiently texting their lover or boss? Ghandi is thin as ever, his stride here, a wishing bone. A single hand raised, scooping out solutions or simply waving in benediction, hailing wind for the damp ride for boat travelers en route to Sausalito or safe passage for automobiles on the distant bridge passing through the mountain of Yerba Buena. It was only due to my impatient walk out to the fringe of tea hawkers and cheese barkers that I discovered this halo of a man, prince of non-violent rea