A Blog on Fog

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.

Published in: on 30th July, 2010 at 1:06 pm  Comments (8)  
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