Fog and Sea

A mackerel sky fillets the village then hides it in a breezeless blear. Heads poke out of net drapes sniff and fish behind trawling curtains. Shopkeepers brace for wet dog splatter and spray from slopping boots and salty puddles. On the sight-seeing sea far beyond the shore and shingle, lost fog horns are lowing deep like colicky cattle. Later, misty reeks will be scoured from groggy docks. Hauling hands will rope together tide-tossed tubs, then tired feet will trudge to taprooms where the brackish parts of codgers and young alike can be oiled and quenched.