Fog settled at 4:30 when I glanced up and realized the bridge lights are gone. Lights and their reflection in the river are gone. So is the green flashing channel marker a quarter mile north, gone. No river traffic, though somebody has their air conditioner on that for a moment I mistook for a slow diesel.
This has been a relaxing four days and three nights. Lovely, classy wedding, not my first one in an art museum, the last was in New Orleans, what? five years ago? That couple have a beautiful little son, they sent a valentine card with his picture. This one in a town that has been a favorite since I first visited here with my father in the nineteen-forties, after the war.
Two dozen steamed oysters Thursday evening, two dozen steamed again Saturday evening while Linda had fried mullet. She doesn’t eat the skin or gnaw the backbone, so I had mullet too. Mullet fried properly, the tail is crispy, you munch that first, then the backbone including the crispy ends of the dorsal and pectoral fin. ‘body don’t like mullet, ain’t my problem, baby.
Fog lifting a little, two bridge lights visible again, and their reflections, now very faintly three more. Traffic is picking up. Still no trucks though, maybe they don’t run on Sunday morning. Not this early. Bridge lights and reflection. Stacked red channel marker. And that's the moon.
There’s that stack of flashing red channel markers. Still pitch black dark, but the bottom red light so perfect says the river is flat. Now and then a splash of some sort, something enjoying breakfast, something else being. Is there a moment of terror and pain for the meal? Last time we stayed here it was Rainbow Inn, not Apalachicola River Inn, and we read in the Times the next week that our first night here an alligator had eaten a cat in the parking lot. 1984.
Now the fog is totally back and fully in command. ZeroV. Carl Sandberg, anyone? Something about little cat feet.