You can almost taste fog. It’s like soda water that is going flat suspended in the air. When you walk through it the floating bubbles become agitated as you walk and they lightly brush against your face before enveloping you quite suddenly. It’s cold.

When it is foggy it is difficult to see. That’s obvious. The effect is of a cloud descending towards the earth and remaining there, brooding, as though the world was a corner and Mr. Fog is allowed to sit on his stool, smoking his pipe ruminatively, while he ponders his next course of action. In a sense it is presageful. Or seems to be. For often it merely lifts and the day can be quite bright and sunny. Fog is formed by cool and warm coming together: cooling surface of the earth in contact with warmer air.

It feels like you can taste it. It feels like the taste is a slightly dirty – in the same way that a partially washed potato is dirty – mineral water. Perhaps a mineral water straight from the spring would approximate this taste. The smell associated with this taste recalls a Masters of the Universe/He-Man figure from the 1980s. This thing was sort of hairy or furry, and greeny, on the surface of his rippling muscles – all the figures had rippling muscles – and he smelled different. Special. He looked like he had emerged from a swamp.

But fog isn’t dirty. It’s not from a swamp. It’s refreshing. You can’t see too far in front of you as you go but it is invigorating to be accompanied by this companion.

And you get out the other side or the sun comes out or the wind comes up and blows it away, and you should be happy as you walked in the clouds for a moment with the gods who dwell up there. Up there was down here and that is something delicious.

Published in: on April 21, 2010 at 7:08 am  Leave a Comment  

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