City of Fog

I was born here, yet I never grew here. Old City by the Sea. When I arrived for my bi-weekly visits with my father, I would immediately roll down the window for the scent. Salty, misty, cool, musty, eucalyptus, and the gentle caress of coastal wind. It felt like love.

Since I have returned a decade has passed, I see now only the rust from the ocean-air eating away at metal, the softening of wood from the pernicious dampness, and the receding of cliffs falling into the sea. The Fog is closing in.

Fauré — Requiem, Op. 48 — Pie Jesu

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