Who would ever imagine that southern Oregon was the fog capitol of America? I swear, there's more fog here than in San Francisco. Seriously, day after day. This morning, driving down the mountain to walk the dogs, I had my head hanging out the window so I could see the edge of the twisting, one-lane road. There are no guardrails and a great drop, so with visibility about 6 inches, I figured freezing my eyeballs was better than doing a dive off the ridge.
It was equally daunting once we got to the park. I could see a bit farther--maybe ten feet--but it was eerie and ominous, my thoughts running to boogeymen and Jack the Ripper. There's just something truly creepy about a cold, dense fog.
Here's the view up my road right now, approaching 1:00 in the afternoon. The fog is lifting a bit because I can see the shadows of the oaks. Earlier there was nothing to see.
I had totally intended to work on the serial yesterday, but one of my favorite authors had a new book out and...well...I spent the afternoon not writing. And it was so worth it. There's just nothing quite like escaping into a great book.
But now it's time to get back on track with my own stuff, which isn't getting done while I sit here procrastinating as the fog swirls around my windows...though the atmosphere is pretty cool. If I was writing a Victorian murder mystery set in London.
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