Here's a photo I did a few months back for a post called Morning Light, when I was waxing lyrical about the magical qualities of dawn's rosy fingers (no snickers, please - that's 'dawn' with a small 'd').
Here's the same scene the other morning.
Except it's not really the same scene, is it? The boats and the docks are pretty much where they were before, but the light is different. The fog has transformed it into a different place.
When I don't have to drive, or fly, or navigate through it, I love the fog. It must be my photographer roots. Photographers are always looking for 'magic light' - the early light I found in Morning Light, dusk, approaching thunderstorms. But the most magic light of all is fog.
Fog simplifies and clarifies. It reduces color to a palette of grays. It forces us all to see in black and white.
It isolates objects against a misty background, helping us to consider some things we might have overlooked. It emphasizes shape and form that may have been previously obscured.
It cloaks the middleground in a shroud and obscures the distant. Scenes are reduced to a few simple planes. The real becomes surreal; the misty, mystical.
Fog shakes up our assumptions about what is real. Things we see every day are now different. It reminds us, if we let it, that anything we know about life is merely perception - and that perception can change with time and with perspective.
Fog can teach us a lot, if we give it a chance.
Here's one guy who was completely oblivious to the mystic quality of the fog all around him and to the great lessons about life and the cosmos that fog can teach us. All he was interested in was breakfast.
I don't know who this guy is, but he's got an awfully long neck for a seagull. He must be a friend of Joe's. He likes fish.