by Kimbery Nolan

Fog happens. It can engulf the entire island, like an unexpected guest, appearing without even a phone call. Fog cools, clouds and quiets the land.  At the water’s edge, reflections of white turn gray fog into silver. A sense of awe hangs like fog in wonderment, as sky and water blur with no defining horizon line.

Unlike the sun, fog is free from the passage of time. Dawn and dusk look the same, misty and still.

Fog is often talked about in evasive ways, mimicking itself: socked in, swallowed, pea soup. Phrases like “no planes flying” or “no newspapers today” are spoken like fog codes. Fog is synonymous with the Grey Lady — an epithet, not just a weather report.