Morning begins in fog, a thick gray layer of quiet that mutes the colors and the sounds. Fat drops of moisture hang on the thick grass at the park and everything is wet.
We take our first walk before the sun rises behind the fog and the air is balmy and moist. But I put on a sweatshirt because I know that, as soon as the sun comes up, even if I can’t see it, it will turn chilly.
Some days the gray moves out before noon, revealing the colors of ocean and sky, the horizon line, the enormity of Morro Rock. Other days I don’t see any blue in the sky and only the top of the rock appears between streaks of moving gray.
This is summer on the coast. A far cry from summer in the Phoenix desert, where it doesn’t cool below 90°, not even in the middle of the night. Where it’s already 100° at noon, and sometimes as high as 115° by the peak of the day. And the temperatures are measured in the shade.
It is no wonder my body is so happy here. I can walk morning, noon and night without breaking a sweat, without rushing to find a spot of shade. And I can challenge myself to walk further because the heat isn’t limiting my activity level.
Laddy is thriving too. His coat is thick and full and, even though he’s still shedding, he’s shedding much less. He is enjoying the increased activity as much as me. There are new plants to smell, new bushes to pee on. He watches horses saddle up for beach walking and he’s meeting dogs in the RV Park and at the dog park.
As the sun goes down, the fog rolls back in, creating a haze around the big lights at the park. The rock has disappeared, the ocean is gone. I can only see a thin line of low surf rolling onto the sand.
We settle into the RV after a last walk and I close the windows against the chilly night air. The surrounding trees are bathed is a gentle mist and I pull down the blinds for an extra layer of warmth. The best part is getting into bed under a thick blanket and sleeping long and deep.