Fog: July the Obscure.
It’s five a.m. and the moon is shining, a full moon just over the neighbor’s precise, shiny, charcoal gray roof. The fog is so thick the water is barely visible. We’ve been socked in for days and every thing in the house is damp-limp, but the shining moon is oddly, somehow, sharply etched.
The fog feels like a living thing as it swirls or drifts, sometimes obscuring a fence, sometimes moving in visible wisps. At times it feels humorous, as if it were playing hide-n-seek, but mostly it feels like a white, wet shroud while above it or away from the shore you know it’s a perfect summer sunshine day.
“Clammy”. The weather forecaster used the word yesterday and I laughed knowing I’d been using that description for a week not once thinking it could be used as a weather prediction.
What does it mean that even though we’ve been in this soup for days the moon has shown through this fog every night and now, still shining in the early morning, hangs crisp and luminescent above these clouds resting on the ground?