The night the sailor never speaks about.

The bridge and the revealed shore below meet each other through a layer of damply hanging ocean fog.

The bridge is rigid and functional. Rebuilt time and time again but not without keeping his historically dainty architectural pieces from being destroyed. He resists modernity's fascism and instead holds onto the creative anarchy of his past. Hand-worked stone, pounded iron into feminine curves and ads-worked wood. Many a man toiled over his steadfastness, pouring their souls right down into the fiber of his arched and sturdy structure.

The revealed shore takes the heavy weight of the bridge deep into her with an almost greedy pleasure in that she knows without his protection she would blow away piece by piece into the sea. Amorphous and lost without his bulk, his strength and his long steady ramped beauty. His handsome ruggedness smooths her sandy edges into warm curvaceous layers. She soaks his pilings deep into her wet sand, sizzling and crackling, parting to make room for his impressive cumbersome entrance down deep into her bedrock.

The ocean fog hides these mysteriously intimate encounters from most keen eyes. He keeps these mystical adult agreements hidden with tufting rolls of hanging mist. Laying his veil along the promenade of the bridge's handrail, he drapes his powerful cloak down to the revealed shorelines slush of sand, seaweed and seashells allowing the two to touch in ways rarely seen, permitted solely in his presence.

On this night however, a lone seamen stirred from his evening reading to the whispers of voices across the rocking waters of the Sound. His amber lantern barely lighting the black sheath of sea around his vessel. The ocean fog himself had become so enraptured with the sight of the bridge slipping deeper into the revealed shore that he -without realizing- parted his atmospheric shield for a connection of moments not done ever before. Breaching this ancient rhythmic secret, he alerted the lonely seamen at rest to the magical nature of his very livelihood.

The young seamen wrapped in soft woolen scarf and pea coat looked out, warmed by coffee with rum and the fur coated dog at his feet, squinting his eyes into the dim fog layered night. Raising his lantern, he froze. Not believing what he saw, he heard the moan of her shoreline tightening against the hulk of the bridge and watched the delicate essence of mist the ocean fog became as he disappeared in ecstasy from the pleasure of the contact he made.

Used to being alone, pining for pleasure from women and sometimes men, the sailor peered outward rubbing his eyes, searching for some exhibitionist couple playing a prank, but no one was there. Not a shadow of human movement reverberated on the sand. Realizing he was not mistaken and feeling the tug of his heart strings and his loneliness pang he too wished that tonight he could be the ocean fog intertwined between the bridge and the revealed shore. Stepping forward, his familiar alert and stirring at his feet, aware of the strange behavior of his captain, ears peaking at the creaking huffs of the bridges thrusts and deep breaths of the revealed shore's lapping of water again and again and again. The sailor closed his eyes and dove in.