A Foggy Morning in Kickapoo Park

I love walking in the fog.

I go for a walk a few days a week in a local park and the fog changes so much. Part of the walk leads through open areas where the mists swirl and occasionally the sun can be seen looking like a white dinner plate in the sky with no glow of its own. The distant tree lines could be mountains as all that is there are dark masses.

Then the road enters a dimly lit tunnel of trees. Spider webs dusted with moisture festoon the oaks and white pines. Osage orange trees look ready to pounce on spindly legs, like the giant parents of the lesser spiders. The fog is no longer comforting and relaxing, but menacing, hiding unknown threats.

I round another curve and the air is lighter, the light brighter as the trees give way to another open field. And so my walk goes, forest and field, welcoming mist and foreboding gloom, until I'm back at my cozy little car, my hair curly from the dampness of my foggy day stroll.