I have seen fog three times this week. Each time, this Carl Sandburg poem came to mind:
The fog comes“Fog” by Carl Sandburg
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
There is indeed beauty in fog, but there are plenty of other weather occurrences that are sublime — you’ve heard me go on and on (and on and on) about sunrises. Sandburg’s poem is memorable because it challenges readers to think about fog the same way they would think about a person. In the real world, fog is a cloud at ground level. In Sandburg’s world, fog is alive and observant, but unwilling to interfere in the lives of the people and places it touches. There’s something supernatural about that.
Enough poetry. Let’s look at some fog pictures from this week. Here’s what I saw Monday morning on my run — the bay was completely obscured.
On Tuesday, the view from Bayshore was pretty much the same.
By Wednesday morning, the view from Bayshore was back to normal. These photos were taken from the same spot Tuesday and Wednesday. You can see the difference if you swipe backward and forward.
Tampa was fog-free on Thursday, but the Complimentary Spouse and I encountered more of the thick gray stuff on our drive through rural Alabama. This photo was taken on U.S. Highway 231 between Ozark and Troy.
Of course, I had seen fog many times before Monday. Here are photos from foggy experiences I’ve had around the world.
A final thought about fog, which I shall keep in mind as I continue writing my novel:
Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.E.L. Doctorow