Lost in a foggy
Roscoe and the photographer waited patiently upon the worn out dock, the fog too thick for clarity, watching the hawk and eagle perched, waiting us out.
The City crew arrived and stood around talking fishing, trash all about. Not their job. The grizzled old prick arrived in hopes of a morning rendezvous.
Don’t the predators ever tire?
The man in the boat worth the photographers home arrived to soon rock the dock with the too large wake. Roscoe ran for dry ground.
It was determined today the fog would prevail. The pain in the arm from the fall heightened by the damp mist. It pained the photographer to lift the heavy Nikon.
The geezer and the not my job work crew soon left so we loaded up and left too.
I’m sure soon thereafter the hawk and eagle flew.
They always do.
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