It comes, with the stately grace of an ocean liner, to cocoon the world in mystery…
Sending before it tendrils and feelers of mist and vapor…
It comes with the measured tread of a glacier, to smother the world in solitude…
Passing over ridges like a tidal wave in slow-motion…
It comes, as unstoppable as time itself, to cover the world in grayness…
Squeezing through gaps and flooding the lowlands…
Mountains rise above it, their peaks become islands in a great, restless sea…
But below, in the fog, we are the fish that swim in the ocean’s depths…
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I love picking a topic and just sitting in front of the keyboard and seeing what happens… oh, yeah…
Pouring My Art Out 
Maybe you try this more often, for depth.
I just do it now and then
If that keeps you the way you are.
It might
On cat’s paws – Bwahaha! I can smell a soul that lives/lived by the ocean. That mystery that swallows the world. Ha! You know when I was hauling over dimensional loads and we could not get a permit (holiday or routing problem), I used to travel at night in the fog so the cops couldn’t see the load. Most effective and never got caught.
Grew up near San Francisco… I know my fog… my favorite is the ground fog. We used to go in the cemetery when just the tops of the tombstones were sticking out of the fog… so awesomely creepy.
Fog is delicious.
Love the fog
We used to get that inland a bit when there was a big temperature/humidity change fast. I can recall driving along without a clue whee the road was – visibility perfect above 3 feet and zero under 3 feet. Eerie.
oh yeah