Like a gossamer veil, it drifts silently over damp trees and rests upon the grass. Fog on a fall morning. A cold front is moving in. Weather is changing. A new season is on the way. This is an inverted day. Instead of becoming warmer, the temperature will sink until by tomorrow morning, summer will be only a memory.
Yesterday, a Flicker swooped in to the birdbath for a drink of water. Seeing it was already occupied, he had a staring contest with a robin. The Flicker, being of the woodpecker family and a powerful beak, didn’t blink. The robin had the right of prior ownership and didn’t appreciate a stranger telling him to move along. Nevertheless, the determined Flicker won and the robin shook his wet feathers and flew away.
The fog settles in for the morning, or has it become more than a mist and is now a sprinkle of rain? Two birds are sheltering under the maple in the front yard. It’s still too dark to see clearly, but I believe last night’s rain has returned.
I remember seeing fog over the blueberry field north of us when we lived at Manos Meadows. It hovered just above the ground and drifted among the bushes in thin, gray ribbons, like the trailing gown of a restless wraith. But the sun was no match for it and, at last, it evaporated, moisture beading the leaves and grass as a sign it had passed that way.
Fog found its way onto the pages of By the Fright of the Silvery Moon. It hides the identity of the person who followed Ned out of town and to the edge of a cliff. It also hid Granger Mansion from sight when she got lost in the woods. But then, it was fall, just as this is, and in the fall, fog filters in. It’s all part of a mystery.
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