The fog comes

Yesterday I awoke to a rare treat — a cool, foggy morning.    For me, there is a special stillness and quietness that settles over the landscape when everything is shrouded with a soft blanket of fog .  I found myself walking quietly so as not to disturb the air and the peacefulness that surrounded me.  And because it was an early Saturday morning, the usual hustle and bustle of work  routines were non-existent with few people out and about.  Since moving to Minnesota I’ve realized that fog is one of the atmospheric conditions of the Pacific Northwest that I miss.   As I was photographing this scene, I was reminded of the beginning of Carl Sandburg’s poem “Fog” where he writes “The fog comes on little cat feet.”  It moves in quietly, settles, and then travels on.   And as was the case yesterday, the sun and heat of summer eventually broke through the fog and we returned to blue sky and bright sunshine.