People walk the oceanside

with leash in one hand, coffee mug in the other.

Small waves lick the shore, clouds,

in a brief break between storms,

milk water to sky–

horizon barely a line.

Fog clings to the crowns of pines, the shoulders of hills,

mist rising,

sand grits beneath occasional footsteps.

Salt and wetness heavy the air.

Dawn seems to extend the whole morning long.