Fog is a cloud that’s descended to earth.
Fog both simplifies and confounds. Sound travels circuitously in the fog, snaking sinuously, unreliably, and distance is abrogated. The world becomes a more simple canvas without distance.
Fog unmakes the familiar. Our world is mostly visual. We depend so much upon our sight that we are literally lost without it, adrift in the fog.
Sidney Creek is a familiar place, a short paddle from the shore of Chocowinity Bay where I live. I’ve often paddled the meandering pathways through the saw grass and sunken forest of cypress trees. I anticipate what I’m likely to see until I don’t, until the fog descends from the sky and distance is abrogated.
The world becomes more intimate in the fog, if undefined. For a sailor on the sea or a climber on a mountain, that lack of definition is dangerous but on Sidney Creek, it’s magical.
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