a fog rolled in with its misty grey memories of a cypress-lined shore the bark of the lions screech of the gulls the slow knock of the mooring against the hull of my old home I spent many days there listening to cassettes on the old car radio that Grandfather mounted up in the corner of the galley I spent many nights there reading by kerosene light as the tapes wore thin, a suitable stand-in of camaraderie, wondering what future held while watching that fog as it rolled in well, the future is here and I'm still listening to the songs and sounds that reach out from the past to shine their light and dispel the grey
A Fog Rolls In
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