We sat on the beach,
Baylee on a leash,
to watch the fog roll in.
Roiling from the north
covering houses like smoke,
curling and smothering sound.
Muted waves crashed.
tide coming in, inching closer
to our toes wave by wave
Gulls stand with sandpipers,
standing on one leg
all in a line, watching
Sun glowed through,
a soft light bathed,
eerily creating fog shadows
Storm-grey blue and green,
bright white foam,
Tan sand and green grass
I touch my hair; it is dripping.
moist dots on Baylee's fur
like sequins.
Wet thick fog envelopes.
wispy tendrils float
inland over the dunes.
Collecting shells, the sand flies
when we shake the towel
and head for home.
