The other morning I woke up to a mist hanging in the valley,
obscuring the view I so love from our kitchen window. The sun had not quite yet risen as I sat down for breakfast, and it was by chance I happened to look
up when I did. What met my eyes was spectacular in an eerie way: the rising sun
shone through the mist and reflected off the windows of houses on top of the
hill. These little specks of light were suspended in the air, not attached to
anything, just reminding me there is something on the other side. I ran to get
my camera, but of course it was almost too late by the time I reached the deck,
camera in hand. Sunrises are like that. I did manage to capture two little dots
of light which was better than missing the moment altogether.
There is something mysterious yet soothing about mist and fog. I got soaked hiking through the pea soup in Newfoundland and could only guess how high the Tablelands are.
I was not able to watch for migrating whales in California because the ocean fog didn’t burn off at all that day, but felt so peaceful walking on Crescent Beach through the migrating patches of fog instead.
I had no idea what was on the other side of the bridge in Coos Bay on the Oregon Coast, but trusted it would lead me to where I was going.
And then there’s ice fog… hoar frost usually goes with that, encapsulating everything in its way.
I am so lucky to live in a place where I get to see winter's work of art.
