A dense fog envelops the beach this morning. It came in silently, as Carl Sandburg put it, “on little cat feet.” Muffling the usual sounds of early morning, the fog softens the cries of shorebirds. Muted too is the dull rumble of traffic on the beach road. Far in the distance a freight train’s horn is heard. The fog brings with it a sense of isolation. Familiar landmarks — posts and culverts — disappear in the gloom. Beach walkers falter along, briefly disoriented in the thickening haze.
Diary, winter 2017
From the diary of beach walker George Thatcher,
email: email@example.com. Collections of Mr. Thatcher’s observations are available from Quail Ridge Press, www.quailridge.com or 800-343-1583.
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