Life above the fog line
I spent too much time on Facebook today.
It’s easy to do because FB is that addictive stew of truth, lies and babies that keeps me searching through the feed trying to fill up on an endless diet of no-cal desserts. It is not no-cost, however. Time is at risk, and I’m trying to develop a healthy balance of research and writing. The thing is, there are worthwhile offerings there. I find appetizers about everything under the sun, I just have to wade through a lot of frosting to get there.
Speaking of under the sun, the day began before Facebook perusing when I woke and looked out the window to find another thick blanket of visible water particles hanging in mid-air — fog happens. Not only is it dark by 4:52 p.m., but the fog hangs around sometimes until midday. So, for those of us in the majority, living below the fog line, the day has shrunk to about four-and-three-quarter-hours long. It’s a good thing writers don’t need sunlight. At the least, hope and recent experience suggested that rays would break through and blue sky would at least wink at me before fading to black.
Then I went on Facebook, and there it was among the offerings I always know is coming but dread this time of year. It was the first seasonal video posted by my “friend” Scott Lewis. At least it says he’s on the list. There it was, a crystal-clear shot of how absolutely gorgeous it is on days like that when you sit high above it all, probably sipping a mimosa and looking down on the stifled.
He added the obvious, “Above the fog, it’s sunny. (Both literally and metaphorically).” Then Scott proceeded to pan slowly, lovingly over the autumn-lit hills and dales of our valley until he stole upon the swamp portion under which I dwell, as if to say, “See the difference?” I thought I heard a snicker. I looked up pathetically from under the blanket of invisibility, but no one would see me if I stood on my roof waving a red handkerchief.
Please keep in mind, oh lofty ones, with aeries for homes, we’re not mushrooms down here in the gloom, we’re people!
I didn’t know whether to thank him for the not-so-subtle reminder of my subjected living conditions, or grab my oxygen mask, drive up and crash his reverie. But the contrast did cause me to give fog a good think since I’m stuck with it — moist air seeming rich for growing mirth, and to come up with yet one more idea for a column.
Most interesting photos of fog are from the vantage above the roil and boil as it moves over land or sea. But there are misty, earth-level shots that lend personality to ordinary trees, for example, or make me wonder what’s inside a shrouded old barn. It’s all in how we look at and think about things. Mentally, it’s possible to remain above the fog, if not literally.
Even when I’m adrift in a fog, real or metaphorically, I know it’s temporary, and the sun is shining elsewhere. It’s shining at Scott’s house, where the rarified air will renew your hope no matter what the present situation. So laugh, love and live above the fog line. It’s nearer than we think.
— Peggy Dover is a freelance writer living in Eagle Point. Reach her (except Scott) at firstname.lastname@example.org.