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I love the low bellow of the foghorns, rising up from the water. At the top of our hill, over 400 feet above Elliott Bay, they are more a presence at the edge of one's awareness than an identifiable sound.

Cowtown Pattie

When I lived on the Texas coast, we would get killer fogs; so dense it was virtually impossible to drive in. It made me claustrophobic mostly.

Other times, I could see a fog rolling in from the gulf, its fingers stretching like scary crone hands, curling and wicked.


I tried pinging you, but Haloscan and Typepad are apparently in the midst of a pissing contest.

I have a post up that was inspired by this lovely one of yours.


Cool photo!

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