Foggy thoughts

I love fog.  Which is a good thing considering where I live.  Nova Scotia is rather prone to fog, and if Nova Scotia is prone to fog, then  Eastern Passage is addicted to it.

I may wake up to a cool, thick, morning fog in the Passage and 30 minutes later be baking under a hot, sunny sky in Halifax. 

The other day it was lovely and sunny when an odd layer of fog drifted up the harbour.  The layer began about ten feet off the ground and ended 50 feet up, so I could see the bottom and top of buildings but not the middle. 

Whatever it's form, I love the way fog softens the world around me. 

Nova Scotia fog has more character than the plain old fog I knew back in Ontario.  There, fog might hover in the morning in low-lying farm fields or occassionally it might envelop everything in as if a blanket had been dropped on the world.

But here?  here -- it drifts, it moves, it grows, thickens, fades and grows again, all within a short period of time.  It rolls up the hill toward you like a wind-borne stream.  It enfolds you in it's magical, mystical vision.  It fuzzes the edges of things around you and brings with it the scent of the ocean.

I love that scent.  The smell of the salty sea and fishy things with just a hint of rotting seaweed.  I sniff deeply.

And sometimes, rather than hiding things, the fog reveals them.

There's magic in fog.

And Nova Scotia is a wonderful place to be in the fog.

Especially when you're with puppies !