These mornings are so foggy in the Sunset. Foghorns remind me of my beloved. I wrote a poem about an evening of ours, years ago, set to the soundtrack of a foghorn. Ever since then, I cannot hear a foghorn without thinking of him. I realize now how apt the symbolism is.
This Saturday will be the fifth anniversary of the day I kissed him goodbye on the eve of his move to Scotland. Coincidentally, it was my half-birthday, so I never forgot the date. I tried. I tried to forget so much, but I kept hearing foghorns.
One Comment
> I cannot hear a foghorn without thinking of him.
> I realize now how apt the symbolism is.
yeah – sharing a bed with a person does give some fascinating insights into their nocturnal digestive processes…
hoooooooonk .. frrrp
