Curious name for a low flying cloud, but that's what we call it. Fog is somewhat rare in summer, but the overwhelming humidity of yesterday just overloaded the air. Fine droplets of water were squeezed out of their hiding places between the oxygen and nitrogen molecules that make up our atmosphere...Yes, I should also mention the carbon dioxide molecules that are growing in number and which will slowly boil our grandchildren's world, but I choose the peace and happiness of ignorance and denial for a few minutes.
I don't know why I like fog so much. It is a soft filter lense on the world that makes it seem more loving, except for those times I've had to drive home late at night, peering through the "beauty" to the side of the road 20 feet away that I was using as my navigational beacon.
I think it is the mystery of a fog cloaked world that intrigues me.
I know very well what the other side of our gorge looks like. I stare at it over and over some mornings, in the stark clarity of early sunlight, but this morning it is a mystery. Is it still there? I can't see it for the low flying cloud, so maybe it has gone somewhere. If it is gone, what will I see when the sun burns the low flying cloud away? A child's game of the imagination.
Will the eagles fly close to my window this morning? The wind has changed so maybe they will fly against this side of the gorge using the air currents to advantage in their lazy efficiency. If they streak by my window, they will turn their heads to see me. They always notice me, their predatorial senses too finely tuned for me to escape. I wonder what they feel when look in at me. Wariness? Fear? Irritation? Or the most intimidating emotion of all for a human... nothing. Another environmental disturbance to be passed by...A tree, a rock, a tree, a human, a tree...Nothing important..the lake is that way.
I can see the top of the fog cloud from here. Blue sky above. The sun is coming and the softness will be gone soon. I'm going for a walk now, before it leaves.
A walk in a low flying cloud.