The fog is so think the deck is wet.
Here is a poem by Ezra Pound
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
- Ezra Pound
Stay with this poem, such a few lines and no verb and yet so much is said. The image haunts.
I know from yesterday that not every place is wrapped in fog, and it feels just right for me today to have this soggy hug.