Fog vs Poppy

Fog is draping itself around our coast like a slovenly visitor, gray and humorless. This is when I dig out photos of spring poppies and vistas of wilderness backlit by a hot sun. It's also when I start to think of places to go where summer exists as a season of heat that ripens fruit on trees and dries the river water on my skin as I sit baking like a brown piece of toast.

I may go inland and up into the foothills of the Sierra. I am considering another trip to Hawaii or Canada where I have yet to visit and explore. New York is a possibility, but then a friend has asked me to see her again in Colorado and share a little time with her there. I'm thinking it over, but I haven't decided yet.

The sight of the clammy fog, in all its sullen chill, got me thinking again about travel. Where shall I go this time? I'll reach into my closet for some maps and go to the bookcase to find a few travel guides, check the internet. It all begins with twinges of longing to be away from here.

Summertime is coming, our second winter. The only way I can tell it's summer and not winter? The daylight hours are longer. I'm glad I spotted the poppies one day, bright and cheery looking, bobbing in the breeze at midday.

I guess the fog is a prompt for travel, a good pique to my consciousness to get on with planning. I don't think it will be long before a plan materializes. If nothing else, I need to go out and photograph more flowers to store up as beacons of hope in our long gray summer.