Fog hanging in the air thick as soup
Often making it next to impossible to see
Gagging on the thickness and the morning stench
Grappling with the smell of rotting fish
Yesterday's tide had left upon the beach

Moorings shaded from the struggling sun
Ovations rise from seagulls awaiting the morning feast
Retreating tides expose a lavish buffet
Nothing can penetrate this gray shroud
It encases the outdoor environment
Not willing to release its hold
Grasping desperately as the dawn of a new day drives it away