Fog is like comfortable sleepwear. Noooo, I don’t mean those shorty pajamas with colorful fruit slices all over them — though those work alright. On women, anyhow.
It’s just comfortable, like a loose hug that fades to a respectable distance and finds something else to do, like snore.
I just ruined fog for you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. Let me start over..
Fog. It does a body good. No? Right — I don’t like driving or flying when it’s foggy, either. However, if you’ve ever been on a fishing pier in pea soup fog on a late Sunday morn after Mass, eating a fresh bakery pastry with people you love (who all have their own pastries..), you can guess why I love fog. It minimizes threats (or so it feels), and maximizes the immediate. Near voices don’t fade, and far noises stay far.
Or, if you grew up in a harbor town and heard the foghorn on snow-mornings, you knew it meant school was canceled and all was right with the world. God bless fog!