It’s been foggy the past few days. The type of heavy, low fog that leaves an irregular pattern of damp across the back deck, and the young trees in the yard dripping over the gravel walk.

The fog is so thick, the customary sounds of a suburban neighborhood are largely muffled. It seems peaceful, sheltering, this relative silence.

Someone at work this morning expressed desperation for respite from the haze, just a peep of sunshine breaking through the heavy layers. I don’t really understand the heat; it’s oppressive and frenetic, and if there’s anything frightening in the world it’s that chaotic energy defying reason and denying the serenity of a moment in chill, clean air. It’s the sort of cool dampness that embraces us and slows down the clock for what might be a moment of contemplation.


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