I was up at 4:30 this morning and could see that San Diego was covered with a king sized blanket of fog. I threw on some sweats and headed out wondering if the dawn would make interesting photos.
I drove to Point Loma, a hilly peninsula - a long thin mountain partially residental (high rent district) and the rest owned by the military.
High above the crashing surf, the rows of dead service men and their wives seem to extend forever.
On the other side of Point Loma are the beautiful homes built into the hillside - many have views and the lower ones on the bay, have private docks.
This is Shelter Island, a small flat area, not an island but a little peninsula adjacent to Point Loma.
A dozen live aboard sailboats were anchored, closed up and quiet at dawn while a solitary walker passed by the excited sounds of gulls arguing over splash rights to a muddy puddle.
Before I headed home I stopped for a cup of coffee. When I glanced at a table and some chairs in the corner marked - "Out the Service" with 'the' lined out and replaced with 'of', I reflected how we don't go far in San Diego without being aware English isn't the first language for so many.
