Enveloped by charms of the Doe Bay shoreline, water, and fog, I surrender to the muted mantra of foghorns. I drifted to a land of introspection and reflection and not having all the answers.

            But the fog was my cell phone vibrating. I stumble to the text message, “The pumpkins are gone!”

            I had nursed those pumpkins from seeds. Too much water in spring rains, then by me in the dry summer. I encouraged them to grow into all that they could be. This as bad as Pittsburgh beating the Seahawks in the Super Bowl!

            Colleen texts me another foghorn fantasy.  “Happy Half April Fool’s Day!”