35 – Fog *

Special thanks to Ann-Christine for providing the photos. Ann-Christine is in Sweden and I encourage readers to visit her photography blog Leya: To see a world in a grain of sand. Please tell her I sent you and feel free to comment on her images here. Ann-Christine’s work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Click the video above for 2 minutes of background waves while reading.

I like walking on the beach. It’s good for the mind, body, and soul – and refreshing on my feet.

The morning is very foggy. As I walk, I feel an occasional mist. I see a wetness appearing on my glasses. Water collects and clings on my arms as a morning dew does on grass – but not as much as I recall from prior years here on the coast.

The breeze is very light – almost nonexistent. The sea is relatively quiet. The sand is smooth – unbothered by the extra low clouds. Besides, the low tide was a short time ago. In many ways, it’s a good day for walking.

The thick fog seems to be keeping the birds grounded. The pelicans aren’t gliding or diving. The seagulls are absent – not even standing around on the beach. A lone sandpiper stands on one leg ahead – then hops away like a pogo stick as I approach.

The water feels good as it laps ashore and strokes my feet. Turning to look back, I notice that the buildings are difficult to see. Only their outlines faintly show, but I’m unable to count the floors. I wonder about spotting my turnaround point and my building when I return.

Thick fog is a metaphor for the unknown of what lies ahead. I imagine the Old World explorers making a journey across the ocean to an unknown land. The same feeling could be applied to the early astronauts or those trips to the Moon.

Fog is also a metaphor for a sense of my mortality – but I do not know what is in my future. Then again, none of us know what awaits us in the days ahead. However, some may want to know

I forge ahead with my head more down than up. For whatever reason, my head rises and I notice my turn-around point. Somehow, the building is easy to see. Looking up, I notice the sun appearing more like a moon behind a sheet of wax paper. Maybe the fog is about to clear. Maybe – or maybe not.

I change directions and soon feel a light glow from the sun warming the back of my neck – but as I look ahead – the thick fog remains – the feeling of mystery continues. The warmth on my neck is temporary as I now feel its absence.

As my feet continue walking along the sand and occasionally in the water, the presence of birds remains minimal. The location of our residence is still unclear.

Fog is the gray between certainty and uncertainty. The unclear area between reality and the unreal. I’m on a moving line of the present that stands between the past and the future.

Yes, the fog – a symbol of unclear thoughts and confusion – even frustration for some – but on this day, not me. I confidently trek ahead.

Fog is ethereal and dreamy – but also disorienting. Fog is nothing but low clouds – so I’m walking through clouds? Is this symbolizing chaos? Is this symbolizing a distraction or a feeling of being overshadowed by something? If so, by what? Nonetheless, I choose to continue moving forward toward my destination into whatever lies ahead.

Later, with my back to the water, I stand looking at each faint outline of the buildings through the dense low clouds. A passer-by asks if I’m trying to find my building, but I confidently define my location – then we laugh.

Because I’m near to my ending point, I return to the water’s edge for the remaining stroll. After all, I like walking on the beach. It is good for the mind, body, and soul – and refreshing on my feet.

See what other bloggers have posted about the beach

• Sea Fog (photos)
• Silence of Fog (poem)
• Yet Fog (multiple photos of fog in the woods)
• The Fog (a very short story)
• Fog (essay)

Next Post: Beaches v1 – Tuesday 2 February @ 1 AM (Eastern US)

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