I have experienced fog living in Pennsylvania, but on our most recent trip to the Seattle area, the fog there put the fog I know to shame.
Waking up while it was still dark, I put the coffee maker on and stepped out onto the large deck above the Puget Sound. It was quiet. I did not hear the sea lions who live in front of the rental home, nor the wake from either the passenger or vehicle ferry.
Returning inside, I made myself coffee, then settled in a comfy chair, mug in hand, back in the great outdoors to await sunrise.
As the blackness began to lighten, at first, it appeared to be a normal dawn. My husband had joined me, it was he who first noticed the heavy fog. “I can’t see the lights across the water or to the left,” he reported. “To the right it’s clear.”
When morning had broken, the fog had not. It was only then that we understood its severity. Daytime, such as it was, allowed us to see what we could not see.
As if to prove that sound still existed where visibility did not, we heard the powerful, plaintive blast of the 400-foot ferry’s fog horn. Shortly after, the large vessel began to reveal itself, slowly emerging from the murkiness. It was something out of a movie, a long-lost ship coming back from the dead.
It was game day. As we made our way to Lumen Field to cheer on our Seahawks, we were met with patches of fog, the sun trying its best to prevail over the thick gray haze. The sun, like the Seahawks, would be the victor.
I felt like a winner, too, having had my first foggy morning in the Pacific Northwest. Sunny days are great but when a place you are visiting shows you all of itself, well that’s just beautiful.
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