You know the water is thick in the air when your dog finishes her walk looking like she was run through a car wash. *sigh* I just brushed her out! Now she’s all ragged again. I suspect her fur was designed for snow, the way it knots up to keep water away from her inner coat.
My dog and I: not built for the tropics. :/
The fog this morning was outstandingly typical, a murky lens set over everything. Perhaps because I live in Florida I do not find dark, foggy mornings malevolent the way some people talk about it, or how it is portrayed in movies. I find it atmospheric, sure, but not spooky.
It wasn’t so thick I could not see across Lake Ella, but the farthest point was a bit out of focus. I kind of like that world, closed in and finite, as much as I love bright and expansive vistas from on high. Perhaps being the child of a parent with bipolar disorder, it might be that I prefer the extremes, after all.
Fog like this is warm — to me, fog is always warm, it might be a seasonal thing although I’ve never noticed. My father always called it “pea soup” which…makes no sense to me, but I suppose was a staple of his Great Depression-era youth? He also always talked about foggy days as being “socked in” which was said with a hint of melancholy. I always found it odd that a man who loved flying so much refused to fly once he retired from the military.
I guess if nothing else, foggy mornings make me nostalgic?