the morning sun hides behind the clouded mist.
its futile attempts to greet me disperse in the cool damp air that meets my face
all looks grey this morning, except the autumnal leaves,
which speckle the air as colored clouds,
save for the stark, black, sinewy figures which hold them,
appearing suddenly and disappearing from sight as i move further along the coast.
a foghorn bellows -
heavy and lonely.
like the waves that roll in and roll back again,
it calls out for anyone who will listen -
to any ship that might drift passed its harbor.
all seems grey today - even the ocean has been touched,
and its water, once so clear and blue, is black, slippery oil
washing against the grey rocks on the shore.
all seems grey today -
but, somewhere, amidst the greyness that enshrouds this morning,
like the marbling leaves quietly breaking the monotony of fog,
i find peace -
i hear YOU whisper, between the horn, the waves, and the mist,