The Weight of the Mist

The fog descends like an exhaled breath, settling low over the jagged coastline, muting the sharp edges of the world into soft, gray smudges.

We walk blindly into the damp air, feeling the chill cling to our skin, listening to the unseen ocean crash rhythmically against the rocks.

There is a strange comfort in the haze, a quiet isolation that shields us from the harsh clarity of the morning sun, leaving only the sound of the tide.