Fog wraps the world in a robe of rediscovery. In the fog, each building stands discrete. Wherever you are, it is the only place. Mist makes everyone an island. No wonder we huddle inside, after drifting in the chill, so glad to find that other people still exist. Standing in the swirling grey, I might have been the only one.
It was cold here for exactly twenty-four hours. Then it wasn't all over again. Unseasonably warm doesn't even begin to describe it. November is rendered meaningless. Not that I'm complaining. It's just that I have a closet full of winter clothes that I've barely touched . . .
1 comment:
Yeah, I was nearby in Camp Pendleton on this day... It was very strange to see fog after not seeing more than a solitary puff of a cloud for two weeks, but it reminded me of the inconstant and ever-changing Virginia winters I'm used to.
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