I do not believe I have ever heard a foghorn outside of TV or movies. It would be appropriate if one were sounding its lonesome warning in my neighborhood this morning. A thick layer of fog blankets the area. I can barely make out the porch light on the neighbor's house across the cul-de-sac, and the lights on the street behind me are completely obscured. Visibility can be measured in yards, not fractions of a mile. School has been delayed by two hours to allow the fog to burn away in the morning sun. I fully expected a Boy Scout holding a lantern to light my way to the mailbox to get my paper this morning. You will understand that reference if you were a Boy Scout before the current urban version of the Boy Scout Handbook was published.
Forgive me if my ramblings seem a bit punch drunk this morning. I have been up since shortly after three in the ayem. My old buddy insomnia came for a visit and stayed for breakfast. I will offer a hearty "You are welcome" for your unspoken thank you for not publishing the rambling nonsensical post my sleep deprived mind composed around four dark thirty. What started as a rambling apology to Jean for a snide comment I left on an earlier post became a rambling exhibit of my true schizophrenic self. TMI on display, Dear Readers. That post is safely tucked away in draft status where it belongs.
I better stop this effort before it descends down the same dark pathway.