In the Thick of It

The fog was dense yesterday morning, so dense that you could only see a few yards ahead of you.  So dense that the thick, gray sky entirely cloaked buildings, leaving only a view of the outlines of trees that were right in front of you.  People walking across the street seemed to come out of nowhere.  Everything looked eerie and strange and unfamiliar -- and dark.  It didn't take long for the shroud to be lifted. The sun came up and burned off the fog, turning the morning into a bright and brilliant spectacle.  But until then, the day was moody and I have to say that I liked it.  Fog is mysterious and it always feeds my imagination. On such days, if I had my choice, I'd stay tucked inside curled up in my easy chair with a good read.  Foggy days remind me of vintage British mysteries where the fog seems to always roll in to London right at the moment when someone is walking alone, looking over his or her shoulder for the source of suspicious noises.  Alas, I wasn't home reading a mystery yesterday.  I was driving through it instead on my brief commute to a new work day.