A cold, heavy, dewy mist permeates the autumn sea-breeze air.
Bells from buoys tolling tell of danger brewing, but from where?
Loud foghorns blowing from ships passing close by the way.
Visibility is non-existent; No sun peeks through the clouds today.
Gentle waves come lapping against the sea-washed sides of this vessel.
Wee hours of the morning are always something special.
As daybreak turns to noonday, the fog parts from the skies.
Seagulls ride the waves while the tides begin to rise.
Many birds fly above this vessel, hungry for a feast.
They’re hoping for tiny crabs or small fish until our operations cease.
We haul awkward traps all day or pull in heavy fishing nets.
We turn our vessels towards the shore when the sun begins to set.
Puffins perched on jagged, rocky coastlines with fish held in their beaks,
Greet passing-by fishermen and kayakers as homeward bound they seek.
But the day’s not done for weary men and women from the sea.
The golden hours of the evening are their favorite hours you see.
Surrounded by their loved ones, they share a meal and some games.
Like homes all around the world, their love feels much the same.
But there’s something special about the coast, sea-salt is sprinkled on our love.
A distinctive coastal flavor; A certain kind of heaven from up above.

(C) Stephanie Blomquist, 2026