"Keep moving," I said to myself, almost aloud. I was retracing the steps of a hike I'd taken a few weeks before. Memory plays tricks. I had no map, just the sketchings of a currently-distracted mind. My head was trying to remember a trail set against azure skies. However, on this day there was a fog so thick I could barely see my feet. "Was this where I turned?" This time I said it out loud for sure.
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The cloak of summer fog makes the Marin coastline a play land of imagination. High in the coastal hills the chilly stew hugs land like a translucent shroud. One can walk straight into a dream—eyes wide open. It's a short trip to a land of eternal childhood.