Yesterday when I went for a walk I did some writing. This is what I felt and saw and wrote.
Scent of moist sawdust from a garden as I walk past. Fog so thick I can’t see 20 feet in any direction. Two sets of rollerblade tracks in the thick half-dry sand. Young seagull, landbound, lying in the sand with his head stuck under one wing. I can feel the fog roll over me as I make my way out to the rocks, I watch it billowing around me as though it breathes. I can’t even see the boardwalk anymore, let alone the rest of the city…
A piece of driftwood shaped like a claw lies half in the water, eight feet long and wedged between the rocks. If I had a boat I could get lost forever. I am almost alone here. Kayaker paddles by silently. I think she knows that I want to be alone. She disappears into the fog before I’ve even finished writing this.
The city is lost in the mist, there is no sound but the lapping of waves against rocks and sand. The air is thick and it’s hard to breathe, but I’m alone for a while, and it feels good.