It comes in silently, moves through the town without a sound, and crouches against the houses. It wraps itself among the trees and tangles among the branches. Now it moves a bit, thicker here, thinner there as a breeze rearranges it. Gray and ghostly, misty and mysterious, fog holds the city in filmy fingers.
It has always amazed me that fog can make a familiar countryside look strange and alien. Nothing can mask well-known landmarks like fog. It doesn’t make a sound yet it is a danger to drivers and a sign of a change in the weather because the weather has certainly changed. This morning it is 64 degrees in my particular corner of Northwest Arkansas. The temperature, the fog, and a certain feel in the air are early whispers of Nature saying that soon summer will be a thing of the past.
I remember years ago in my home at Manos Meadows, looking out my north window toward Mr. Beaverson’s blueberry field. In the late summer or early fall, sometimes patches of fog would float over the ground and wrap around the blueberry bushes. Since the early morning sky was clear and the sun was not quite up, this was simply ground fog but it seemed to me like a thoughtful spirit, hovering there for a bit before drifting away.
Tonight we have a chance for more rain and possibly dangerous storms so we will need to be aware. Weather is wonderful, never dull but it is not to be trusted. Even as I write, the morning lightens and the fog begins to lift. Soon it will dissipate and the wind will whisk it away but it will return some chilly morning and remind us that the season is moving on and one of these days, we will awaken to a different landscape and fall, unlike the transient fog, will be here to stay for a while.
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