Good morning!
It’s Sunday, and we have ourselves a misty, mystical morning. We’ve traipsed through the mossy woods, along the edge of the shore, and out to our favorite spit of land overlooking the bay. The fog is so thick, you can barely even see the tip of the cape across from us. In the distance, a lone boat is making its way back to the safety of home.
“The fog comes
on little cat feet.It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.”—Carl Sandburg
And onwards we go, too,
Clara
p.s.—You can also view today’s video via this link.
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