coastal marine layer
white and grey
hugs the shore
heavy
on the ground
damp
with a cold wind
that chills the bones.
other times
appears to float
just above the hills,
drifting,
teasing the sun

beach fog
misty and wet
hangs in the air,
on clothes too
obscuring the sea.
rolling, in and out
breaks of blue
and sunlight
illuminate the surf
bright white
returning to gray

in valleys
and river canyons
of mountains
fog can be
soft and cool.
a river heard,
cannot be seen.
wispy, it drifts
through the forest
mixing with sun
casting shadows
in the air,
leaving drops
clinging
that sparkle
in the morning
light

tule fog...
nothing,
compares.
dark and dangerous.
weeks on end, no blue.
so thick
you can’t see
to cross the street.
driving
tense and wary
with windows open,
listening, hard
staring into
the gloom,
straining
to see taillights
suddenly
stopped ahead

this morning
the fog
pours gently
over the hills
spilling through
the golden gate,
hugging the ground,
reluctant
to let go.
warm air and sun
push back
holding it
along the coast…
still trickling in
it evaporates
on the bay

the fog,
above all...
is silent