Fog on the Rocks
by Helen L. Wheldon

Fog creeps in -
The bay and
the inner islands
disappear; some
slowly, some

I am alone.
Perched high
on a granite
boulder, perched
high over the
bay, I watch
the world go

Sounds so soft,
sounds like velvet,
a lone voice,
the chug of a
boat, come

The fog enfolds
me. It caresses
and comfots
and sloughs off
my cares.

I love the fog.