Fog

This morning the fog is in, covering us with a thick layer of wet cool air wafting over the trees and roofs in our view in little puffs.  It's totally white out the window now and the temperature is in the low 50's.  There's a famous saying around here from Mark Twain who said "The coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."  I remember the first July we spent in Berkeley, thirty-seven years ago, we never saw a blue sky because we were totally socked in by fog for the whole month.  It's like living inside a cloud.  I wondered what kind of horrible place was it where we'd moved?  Now, I find a foggy morning a great relief.  It usually comes in after a few days of really hot weather, our natural air-conditioning system.   It's a pleasure to watch the white cool air slowly roll in through the Golden Gate and bend north over the Bay engulfing Richmond first then working it's way south towards us.  The hot air rises up because it's lighter and then the cool denser air from over the cold Pacific Ocean is drawn in.  Now, I love foggy mornings.  I love the security I feel of being held by the cooler denser air.  I love the way the sunlight streams through the breaking up fog in the later mornings.  I love the silence from the fog damping down sounds. Funny how my ideas have changed living here all these years.