I awoke this morning to a thick, heavy fog…
But all is well. I’m still here, and so are they.
It’s time to share the beauty of the new day, come what may! ❤
Some people shy away from a rolling fog as it moves in.
Me? I can’t wait to get out into the fog, just to see what kind of magic it has spun — and who might be out and about, like me.
The fog the other morning at Forest Beach was as intense as I’ve ever seen it; everything covered with thick, misty clouds.
Yet while some things seemed to fade from view, some of the fall color seemed more vibrant than ever.
Even the faded-out rosa rugosa hips looked more alive than they had just the day before.
Gazing out to sea, I heard the sound of a fishing boat and could just barely make out the shape of a gull keeping watch on a jettie.
Further up the beach I spotted the red hull of a sunfish, yet the fog over the dunes made it look like the beach disappeared just beyond them.
Many of the plants and bushes along the marsh were covered with diaphanous dew-covered webs.
Even some of the wild berries were covered with the delicate little webs; dew droplets hung heavy from nearby twigs.
As the morning light shone through the webs and dew droplets it made me think of a Christmas tree trimmed with tiny white bulbs and glistening tinsel!
By the time I made it to Cockle Cove, the rising sun was making an all-out effort to break through the fog.
Beautiful blue cedar berries and more dew droplets hung from the boughs of every cedar tree along the creek.
And as I slowly turned my camera further up the creek, I was suddenly startled by the reflection of a great blue heron who was busy fishing!
Quacking softly, as all ducks do.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a pair of black ducks in the mist, moving up the channel with great haste.
Upon closer look, I noticed that the one in the lead was carrying a tiny crab in its beak as he exclaimed, “It’s time for brunch, time for brunch! Don’t be late, it’s time for brunch!”
“Why thank you for the reminder, Little Duck,” I responded.
And although I hated to leave, I had to admit I was a little hungry, too.
I guess all that fog magic had given me quite the appetite! 😉
Rarely would I ever venture into Chatham Village on a gray Saturday morning at the peak of summer.
But I was desperate for buttons. For trimming a hat that ships on Monday.
It was too early for Ben Franklin to be open, so I headed straight to the Lighthouse where I found the sun doing its utmost best to pierce through the fog.
There was a group doing yoga out in the dunes, and the lighthouse was sending its own bright beam out into the rough, misty sea.
The harbor master was making his rounds, splashing through the surf and gearing up for a busy weekend.
Standing there, all I could think of was how delicious it was going to be to return to this very spot, come Labor Day.
With camera in hand and a song in my heart, glorying in the quieter days on this sandspit I adore.
‘Til then, be well, O Chatham! My Chatham! It won’t be long now! ❤
I love fog. Growing up here on the Cape, I find it energizing.
Yet fog can distort things, too. It can blur one’s view, disorient one’s sense of direction and place in the landscape.
The other day as I pulled into the parking lot at Forest Beach, I could see the fog rolling in from the sea, billowing and swirling as it came. Creeping up and over the dunes and into the marsh. Muting the sun’s rays, dissipating everything that is familiar to me in a marsh I know so well.
I have also found that the fog can bring new things to light; even unexpected things, together.
As I looked across the marsh, I was taken with a group of ospreys and crows.
Ordinarily, an osprey will fiercely defend its nesting pole against anything coming near. Yet here they were, ospreys and crows, sharing one of the “fish hawks’ ” favorite perches.
Like this swamp rose mallow, peeping through a thicket of lime green leaves and cat o’ nine tail stalks.
I asked the new batch of baby bunnies what they had found in the fog.
And although they tried to deny it, I looked like they had also found a real spring in their step.
Across the flats, two great egrets were trying to ignore all things osprey.
Slowly striding through the grass, they seemed to be reveling in the murky landscape; stretching out their necks and with keen eyes looking for signs of swishy fish tails.
A familiar friend atop Gull Cottage reminded me that the fishing’s always best when the fog rolls in.
He told me it’s because the crabs can’t see you coming for them in the fog.
It can sometimes make you feel disoriented, perhaps even a bit lost.
The next time you feel lost in the fog, maybe take a deep breath.
And look around.
You might just discover something new, thanks to fog, something you might not have seen without it.