Fog

As a child I was aware of foggy days before I even opened my eyes.  I would waken to the slow rhythm of the foghorn at the lighthouse down the beach.  Gazing sleepily out of my curtain-less window I could see nothing, the white cottony haze obscuring the boats, birds, islands and even the water itself from my view.

These days I live out of hearing range of the monotone marine honking and must rely on the the radio weather report or my plain old eyes to identify a foggy day.  

On this damp morning I embarked on my early run into the dark and was surrounded by soft puffs of light coming from streetlamps and the occasional car headlights.  The fog seemed to muffle the sharp sounds of life, bringing silence, until I reached the forest.  As I drew closer it sounded as if I was approaching a rain forest during a heavy shower.  In fact this was a shower, from the trees above – the cottonwood leaves drooping and dripping with heavy condensation deposited there by the slow moving clouds of fog, soaking the undergrowth and decaying leaves on the forest floor.



tangle-webs in the heather

My favorite element of the autumn fog is how it illuminates the countless spider webs – and not just the elegant orbs of the garden spider, but the tangle-weave webs hidden in the crannies of the neighborhood shrubbery.  These poor stealthy spiders that rely on their invisibility for survival are suddenly exposed for the world to see.  Good news for them is that we humans are less likely to accidentally walk into their fancy architecture and run off screaming and swatting at their sticky webbing plastered to our faces.  We are more likely to stop and admire their intricate artistry.

Although fog is known for decreasing visibility and blocking our view, I’ve learned to appreciate the damp, ground hugging cloud for the little things it brings to our eyes and ears.