The last few nights at about this time (It’s almost 9), we have noticed a haziness out front. I opened the front door to smell the air, thinking our town was on fire. Okay, not really. I have sniffed the air, thinking somebody down on the beach was building a bonfire. That isn’t smoke, I tell myself. It’s fog. Fog is stealing through our streets, making it’s way up from the ocean. How cool is that?

I asked Alexa if she could play a fog horn sound. She got confused and began rambling on about what fog horns did, when they were first used and why they aren’t used anymore. Too bad. This is the kind of night, when the distant moan of a fog horn would either make one shudder in fear or ignite an imagination and a good story would begin to materialize.

I marvel at how living in the Northwest, so close to the Pacific Ocean, can make one feel so adventurous. I almost want to find my way to the North Jetty, climb on the rocks, feel the mist from the sea and the chill of the night air. A favorite book of mine, Portrait of Jennie by Robert Nathan, tells the tale of a young girl who befriends a lonely man who frequents the seashore. Each time they meet, she is older and soon she is all grown up and they fall in love. He paints her portrait. I won’t tell anymore. You’ll have to find the book and read it yourself.

It is dark now, George is retiring. It’s time for my nightly old movie watching, story writing or reading. Good night all. Stay safe and stay away from those crashing waves out on the jetty.