Monday, April 30, 2012


Very thick fog this morning. I love it when the atmosphere closes in on you like this. Light becomes liquid silver, sound is muffled, and everything is either close, or invisible— no longer important. You feel as if you are in a room made especially for you and the rest of the world is excluded. You are at the center of a muted reality, with heightened perceptions. Fog is a poet.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Beautifully put, and I couldn't agree more. It's one of the pleasures of working in the San Francisco Bay Area; I often have the pleasure of foggy mornings.

Purple Magpie