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icebluenothingAs I write this, it's been foggy for three straight days here in Seattle, and I find myself childishly delighted with it. I can't remember the last time this happened -- I'm used to fog being entirely ephemeral, here in the morning or at night, burned away by the heat of the day.
Everything is still and quiet and white and beautiful, the effect of snow without the bitter cold and treacherous footing. It's shrouded and mysterious. Gothic weather.
People say they're "in a fog" when they're confused, distracted. Fog is an obstacle. If I were navigating a ship, cut off from stars and landmarks, I might see the truth of that metaphor. But being out driving, I find that there are no gaudy business signs, no billboards, clamoring for my attention. My world is reduced to what I need to pay attention to, what's right in front of me. I only have to think about how to handle the task at hand in this single moment.
It's a nice state to be in.
Everything is still and quiet and white and beautiful, the effect of snow without the bitter cold and treacherous footing. It's shrouded and mysterious. Gothic weather.
People say they're "in a fog" when they're confused, distracted. Fog is an obstacle. If I were navigating a ship, cut off from stars and landmarks, I might see the truth of that metaphor. But being out driving, I find that there are no gaudy business signs, no billboards, clamoring for my attention. My world is reduced to what I need to pay attention to, what's right in front of me. I only have to think about how to handle the task at hand in this single moment.
It's a nice state to be in.
