The other morning, I went for a walk just after six o’clock. It was still dark and a thick layer of fog blanketed my still-sleepy neighbourhood. I had my beanie pulled down hard over my ears, so they wouldn’t feel the chill breeze float past as I walked. I had gloves over my hands to stop them becoming stiff with cold. I had my scarf wrapped tight around my neck and covering my nose so as to avoid breathing in icy air. And I had my doona jacket on. I call it that because of it’s doona-like comfort and warmth.
So, there I was, walking briskly along the footpath, sweating it up in my doona jacket and admiring the misty morning view. I could only see about three streetlights in either direction. Without them, my visibility went down to about fifteen to twenty metres. I know some people find fog a bit creepy, but I absolutely adore it. I find it magical and mysterious, even ethereal (oh, I love that word).
Once I was on a red-eye flight from Darwin, which flew into Sydney at dawn. As we descended all I could see was the tops of the sky-scrapers through the fog, like a city floating amongst the clouds. Other-wordly.
The other day, I would have walked through the unlit reserve behind our home in this fog, except wisdom made me stick to the more visible path. I came home mumbling silly poetry about fog to my husband, who had just woken up, and really could not comprehend my dizzy rhyme. (He is not a morning person, so very understandibly said “huh?”) There were so many words to rhyme with fog. I mentioned logs and bogs and grog. Suddenly, I felt inspired to write a poem about the fog–an Ode to Fog, if you will.
That evening, when it came time for me to pen my work of amazing verse, I was trumped by a dear friend who sent me their own delightfully inane poem. And so, I think I will share that with you instead of mine. I would love to hear other’s foggy poems, if you would like to share, or even just your thoughts about fog.
AN ODE TO FOG
While walking in the fogginess
Rug-up and watch your feet
For your feet might meet a doggy-mess
And your throat might feel a frogginess
Which will end in such a grogginess
That you’ll go right back to sleep
© 2010 Brice F Sword
Disclaimer: Any resemblence to real poetry is purely accidental.
Romancing The Rock 
I love fog too! I love to be in it and watch it roll across the neighborhood from our upstairs windows. You’re right about there being something mysterious about it. It’s the perfect atmosphere for cape wearing… and fog is the promise of a sunny day 🙂
Blessings
Dotti
Oh, the cape! The moment I read that word in conjuction with fog, I immediately had picutres flooding into my very active imagination. Thanks. Love it! XXOO
Oh dear, I typed a comment and for some reason it disappeared. I mentioned that I can’t shareyou enthusiasm for fogs. My husband loves the mist, the fogs. Must be the poet in you all! I grew up in “Foggt Toowoomba” on the edge of the mountains west of Brisbane. It was NOT a fun day when I had to walk a mile to school in a pea-souper. I love that thought though that now we see through a glass darkly, but then….face to face one day with Christ in HIS marvellous light.
What a great thought – about seeing Christ in HIS marvellous light, face to face. How I look forward to that day! No more foggy vision. I wonder if I will miss fog in heaven? I dare say I won’t! 🙂
Thanks for that beautiful description of morning fog. Your request for foggy poems brought this old nursery rhyme to mind:
One misty, moisty, morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man
All dressed in leather
All dressed in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?
Hi Jacquie. Thanks for jumping in with another poem…er…nursery rhyme. Ok, so I should probably admit to my original silly ode – here goes:
I went for a jog in the fog
In my clogs I went for a jog
My foot found a log
The ground met my noggin
And that was the end of my foggy clog jog.
Oh, I love fog too! If you have the day free and it’s a foggy morning, take a drive up into the dandenongs, particularly along Sherbrooke road. Gorgeous in autumn with the fog, the coloured leaves and the stray sunbeam stroking the atmosphere…
Oh! Beautiful descriptive words, Katelyn! I can picture it exactly. One of my favourite times was driving the Black Spur (a windy mountain road with lots of hair pin bends, for those of you who don’t know)…at night…through a thick fog. My heart was pounding with the excitement of the unknown. Adrenaline rush for sure!