Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

--Carl Sandberg

It was foggy this morning. I love the fog. I love how it drapes itself like gossamer around trees and buildings. I love how it diminishes the sounds of a city. I love how, when you walk through it and breath deeply, your lungs fill with the freshness of water. I love being out in it, feeling it on my face.

I remember fog on the farm. There were days you could not see across the yard. There were days when the fog was like torn sheets, sitting only in the hollows.

I love driving in the fog. Yes, it's dangerous, but I love the enveloped feeling and the act of discovery as you drive down even the most familiar of roads and the trees, signs and markers of life slowly reveal themselves to you.

Most of all, I love to walk in it. It's my introverted nature to need to recharge my batteries by alone-ness. This is not loneliness, this is just being alone. Fog is marvelous for that. I reach out and touch it. I surround myself with it. I loved going for a walk on the farm on a heavily foggy day. The sounds of the cows or the pigs or the chickens seemed a world away. I felt a balm for my busy soul.

And I remember in college, getting up to go to class on foggy days. As Old Style beer was brewed in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, where I went to college, the fog would keep the smell of roasted hops in the city and it would not dissipate into the air. You would walk to your 8 a.m. class with this incredibly intriguing aroma; the damp on your face combined with the smell of hops and the Mississippi river. I know it sounds weird, but it was, to me, an inspiring smell. I remember being late to classes because I just wanted to be in it.

We don't get many foggy days in the city now. My memory thinks there were more, but it could be my memory is a fog. The tapestry of life changes in the fog. It's a change I miss. I would love to walk along a beach on a foggy day or hike through a forest or climb a hill while brushing the damp from my face. I was content this morning to linger in the back yard, breathing in the little that was left at 7:45.

More please. I want to sit on the deck in the morning with a mug of hot tea and just be in a fog.

Beverage: Assam tea

Deb