The Fog

I have always been captivated by the way fog transforms our space, the surface of the Earth, bringing the ever-distant clouds - the heavens - down to our reach. I'm enchanted by the way it can shroud a whole region in mystery or sequester itself in little pockets, as if to mark the places where the veil to another world is thinning, or maybe torn.

When the fog comes in patches, I respond to it the same way I respond to fireworks: with "ooh," "aahs," giggles - silly and poorly controlled exclamations as each patch is discovered. A few years ago, driving from Sacramento to San Francisco with a friend, I was charmed to discover his reaction to sporadic stretches of fog is similar to my own.

I don't often have time in my life anymore to just drive around, aimlessly, but it was once a common pastime of mine. In our car culture, it was certainly a common pastime for many of us. Foggy drives were always my favorite. Now, my opportunities to experience such drives are typically en route to work. I don't have the latitude to explore the foggy world at my leisure, yet I still revel in them when they happen. I have been graced with such revelry a few times this week. I must admit feeling the urge to eschew my responsibilities and indulge in the mystical, foggy world has been strong. Luckily, my drive is long and it affords me a good portion of fog to enjoy.

Fog changes the world we navigate. It fills the space around us. The space that has always been there, and has always been otherwise filled, but the fullness of the fog feels different, as if it is the ether made manifest. In the desnsest of fog, I can scarcely see my neighbor's house across the street. What was once so close, can feel far away. And yet, the fog, the kind that blankets whole communities, has always given me a feeling of connection that I struggle to explain. I think it has to do with how the otherwise invisible air that we all breathe is now something that we can see.

While the fog brings me much delight, it can, of course, also have a dark and dreariness to it. Fog can feel sad and somber - the cool, damp air more dismal than refreshing. Perhaps the fog was fitting ambiance to Ash Wednesday and our beginning to Lent. As we reflect on our laments, individual and collective, a world wrapped in gloominess seems fitting. The fog, the cloud, sets the stage.

This past Sunday, I reflected on experiences of God in the clouds. "We have reminders of God all around us, even in the clouds. When we see shapes, like elephants, in the clouds, we are seeing reflections of the wonders of creation. When the sky is blanketed with clouds, we can think of God's love, like a blanket, that covers us all. When the clouds bring rain, it is a reminder of our baptism. And if we get lost in the clouds, we are found in God's love."

Maybe that's why I've always loved the fog.