For almost a week, we have had fog come in from the Gulf in the late afternoons in town and by about 7 pm inland where I live.
On Friday, I was in town at a meeting. When it was over, it was about 3 pm. And I on my purple cycle, sporting my pink helmet, rode down the main road along the Gulf of Mexico to the gym. As I traveled, I could see haze ahead and then all around me. I said to myself, "Is this smoke? What is it?" There was no smell of smoke. I heard no sirens. I'm not usually so close to the shore that time of day when on rare occasions fog happens to roll in. I could feel very cool jets of moist air in my face and on my arms as I rode. When I got to the gym, I then realized it was fog. It was so exhilarating. Fog is magical, mystical, spiritual, it makes the ordinary - extraordinary. Why? I don't know. It just does.
Heavenly hush, hallowed silence still
Slowly slipping from the sea
Billowing curling cotton - surely
Unfurling up the shore to me
Surrounding, shrouding, hiding all
In smoke, a haze, a misty gray
Cool, moist fingers in the air
Change the nature of the day
Familiar sights all disappear
In densest dew drops pure
Sounds muffled by a million mists
Move the mind to mystic musing sure
Move me, smooth me, whisper to me
Words of hope and healing tone - then hear
My words returned in deepest love
"I hear you loud and clear!"
(Photo credits: Winter fog by Kate Howland, Bagnoregio in the Mist by ycnay)