Mist erases shoreline Victorian houses,
paints the sky white, hovers just above
orange buoys, anchored sailboats,
harbor seals as they sleep on dry rocks
near the Monterey harbor.
Gulls patrol breakwater and retaining wall.
Squirrels avoid falling drizzle, hide
from the chill deep within their warm burrows.
Dampness transforms a dispirited
palm tree into sodden umbrella.
Stoic cypress strain passing fog
through wind-pretzeled limbs.
Errant wisps smudge my silhouette
as I explore land’s end, navigate
a stone jumble jutting into slack ocean.
You have described the scene etched in my memory of the white banks of fog that move in and out of the Bay. Although I don't believe I ever saw a “slack” ocean on that shore.
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Ron
budd