#470: Surfside, Fogged in

Yesterday was grey.
Foggy grey all day,
with just a thrilling hour or so of sun in the afternoon.
Surfside looked like this:
I could hear the surf,
I just couldn’t see it.

The lichens were happy.

And the folk with dogs to walk were happy, too.

Surfside parking lot,
full of fog, but no cars.
One light shines in the window 
of a house across the way.
Reminding me of that verse in
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
and settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
In all the greyness, 
if you look for it,
there is always light.

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