When I woke up on Sunday, I planned (as per usual) for coffee to be the first order of the day. But then I opened the door and saw the fog–it seemed so thick, I wanted to see how far it went. But I figured I had to hurry; it would burn off soon. I hopped on my bike and rode toward the bridge.
It could just be the islands, but the extent of the fog felt unusual. It was tactile, practically dripping. Brigadoon, quiet and blurry, like disappearing. It’s so wide open out here, with the water and all–you could feel the distance, but you couldn’t see it. The sun distant and inconsequential. It was soothing.
Plus, it’s neat to step out your front door, hop on your bike and wind up in such a different place entirely.
For once I feel like I captured a little bit of the scene with the photos. I already posted them to Facebook, but I’m so
enamored of them I wanted to put them here, too. (Click on them to see the larger version.)
An erosion-stopping “groin” on the beach.
Boats in the bay.
The return trip.