Port or Left

Either the ship was going to have to veer hard to port or I was going to have to make an extreme left turn.

The top half of the ship's mast rose above the low lying fog. The red running light at the top of the mast blinked directly ahead, as did the the smaller lights at the ends of the yard arms.
It would be only a matter of seconds before the hood of my car met the bow of the ship. And yet my mind refused to direct my foot to the brake pedal.

Such was my disorientation this morning. After months of heading off to work in sunlight I was unaccustomed to the lingering darkness. With ground obscuring fog further adding to the strangeness of what used to be familiar terrain, my eyes and my mind were at odds as to what action was called for.

It was not until after I had barely managed to navigate what should have been an expected turn in the road that I saw the mast for what it was - the communication tower rising from beside the local fire station.

The multiple arrays of antennae mounted to the tower had given the appearance of yard arms on the mast of a sailing ship.

It was with a wave of relief that I continued my journey on solid ground.