Sitting here on a patch of beach listening to an old Eric Clapton tune on my iPod. “Lord, don’t the sun look lonesome, settin’ down behind that tree.” Don’t the sun look lonesome settin’ down across that bay. Hazy it is, a light fog holding its gauzy veil low across the sky. Patches of denser fog, soft edged islands rest on the water to the south. The sky fades to haze. Haze dissolves into cold, gray water, tinged with red stretching west, west and away. A single gull sits like a statue atop a tall rock. The only motion the dancing of tall beach grass that waltzes in the gentle zephyr of a breeze. Light so soft. Sea so cold. Just letting the autumn day fade away, Clapton now singing about having to pay the price twice. The the feel of the breeze is in between, both warm and cool, soft as the light, indifferent as the sea.

I remove my headphones to listen to the lapping wavelets, the vocal, fog-bound gulls. Smooth round rocks, moist, cool fog drifting in patches across the bay, the last heat of the day sinks down into the cold gray water. Scents of salt and seaweed caress my nose. The day unwinds its tightly wrapped coils.