Foggy at Five AM.

My eyes opened at 4:30 this morning and I saw the world outside enveloped in fog with the weak sun beginning it's skyward journey. I slipped into some shoes and made my way to the shrouded graveyard, my Leica in hand. The clammers were drinking coffee at the Gates House parking lot down below, voices echoing and carrying in the early morning air. One by one the boat motors started up, deep, throaty gurgles, sputtering, winding up to the steady pitch needed to plow through the river's deep channel to the muddy clam flats. A morning of raking up succulent clams until the turn of the tide when they return, briny buckets , wire baskets sloshing, brimming with bivalves.

For the Record,
This day came in foggy with warmer temps and sun breaking through the lingering fog.