(at The Sea Ranch, Sonoma coast)

On the first day of fall on the Sonoma
coast we find ourselves foggy, which
is not unusual for our state of mind.
But this fog obliterates the horizon,

though the sun does make a cameo
appearance as I roll out the yoga
mat on the deck. Even then, barely
a shadow. And later, on our walk

along the lichen-laced picket fence
row, we notice that the waves
have grown quiet, their crashing
momentarily sucked into the mist.

The small brown rabbit Dick
has seen on the trail emerges from
its same brushy spot to nibble
mid-path as we stop to watch.

These are the moments when
we’re lichen it, grateful for the
what-is, no matter the weather.
We’ll head home into a hazy

future, though the sun is
predicated to blaze bright
and hot. We cannot know
what’s coming or when.

We must keep the good thought,
pray for the highest outcome,
the greatest good, over which
we mere humans have far

too little control. We will
bring with us from
the seashore great tendrils
of kelp-like love to wrap

around those deep in
the struggle, lost in the fog.
We will call out like beacons
to pierce the mist:

We’re here for you!
This way, full steam ahead—
this way to home.