The air is soggy... breezes thick with brine. The mourning doves are cooing in pleas, while moistly muffled tweets ring out from the nearby telephone wires. No matter how fogged, it is still wickedly bright, making sunglasses necessary, though they sit stickily on my face. If I could find the energy, I'd slip into the 85 degree pool water 20 feet away... but the air's sultry snuggling has robbed me of any stray motivations I might have had. The plants were lucky to get their breakfasts and the dog had to be carried outside to do what doggies do. Such is the tone here in Tuckerton... feeling more southern than NJ... perhaps more like Alabama, though I haven't been there, so I couldn't really know.
A small plane just flew over, loud and low enough to cause me to lift from my chair and glide to the deck for a look-see of what's going on. His engine is laboring under the weight of the air, and you can hear it in the chopping of his propeller, though he seems in no danger of dropping. Drooping perhaps, but not dropping.
I saw, though, while on the deck, that the visibility has improved. I can see more than the 200' I had only minutes before. Maybe that brilliant sun is close above this fog, melting away the moisture?
No sooner have I said this than I see hints of blue in the sky, and actual shadows are appearing beneath my outdoor furnishings. I breathe deep, and the air feels lighter in my lungs... Maybe a swim is in order after all? Iced coffee and a swim...
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