Auld Lang Syne

Saturday, August 20, 2011

and the fog slowly lifted

I love waking to fog, feeling it sift through the curtains over my bed. Growing up in Maine I learned the terms for fog and its actions: pea soup, banking, sky soaker, burn off, etc. I think fog is Nature's shyness, its way of saying "don't look too closely just now."

Sometimes I am like fog, not wanting the close look, the scrutiny, the harsh light of day. I prefer the slowness of receding into the horizon, or lying just beyond the light. I am aware of how quiet things are in fog, the soupier the quieter. Of course there is always the comfort of the fog horn, booping behind the bank, letting me know there is danger beyond. I love the sounds of the fog horn weaving its way through my dreams or waking me with its soft call. I used to say I'd love to live in a lighthouse (a PARTICULAR lighthouse) where the sounds of the sea, the fog swish, the fog horn, the bell buoys would be my companions. Now though, in my early 60s, I see how that might be less than a safe way to live. So I write about these things: fog, light, weather, and what these do for my heart and soul. (no sappy feelings here, just how it is). I am fortunate to have my writing to live in a life I can only see from the outside looking in, although I FEEL like I'm "in."

So today I will go to a favorite spot (a rest area overlooking Clam Cove) and take a notebook. I will spend quality time with myself and my writing. The fog has lifted, burned off. I can see to the islands from there. I will sit and wait. I will sit and wait.


  1. I was JUST thinking about things like this on our morning walk in the fog! I took some great photos and was thinking as I always do about how much I love the got. Great post!

  2. fog is such a special entity... allows the ghosts to move about freely without fear of being caught!