It feels really weird sometimes to live on the
Central Coast. Like right now. I am bathed in strong
sunshine, but on either side of where I stand, and ahead out
in the ocean, the fog is rolling in. Foghorns are blowing in
the background. I feel odd, in a vaguely melancholy mood.
The light is not clear. There is darkness around the edges,
as the horizon wears its charcoal fog mantle.
It's as if
the joy of the sunlit moment is to be transient -- soon
darkness will envelop and sadden those in its path.
And then I
hear something snorting not far off. Looking up, I see a
sleek harbor seal, trying to get comfortable on a rock to
soak up the sun. Now, in the distance, a bunch of seals bark
near Fisherman's Wharf. And the gentle surf washes in and
out around the rocks.
chirps round out the scene, and lift a fog I realize is
internal. For usually, fog and foghorns strike me as wildly
that now that part of my life has gone on sabbatical.