It Is That Thick

  The other day, a cousin from out of state made the remark to me that I had to be exaggerating about the fog.  "It cannot be that thick." he stated with quite an air of insistence.  "Fog lifts before midday." again with a little bit more emphasis that he knew what he was saying.   Well, folks, if you have not lived on a bayou in the Deep South, do not go telling us about winter fog.  It is a real thing and we deal with it...sometimes all day...sometimes for days on end.  Fog!  Thick pea soup fog that shrouds everything and lays a dampness to every nook and cranny of even the tightest of houses.  The wood floors in the Little Bayou House stay sticky and dust clings with more of a vengeance to the damp furniture.  It makes you just want to stay inside where at least you remain somewhat drier than if you went traipsing around the hillside.  Mr. PJ and Ms. Nycto (the dog and cat of the place) have decided that the best way to endure the weather is to nap continuously.  

  Yesterday morning had particularly dense fog.  The sun did not poke its face out until well in the afternoon.  The whole Bayou seemed to be cloaked from the outside world.  Not being able to see what lay beyond the marsh, I felt a bit isolated.  The old dog hung a bit closer when we headed back behind the cane to gather firewood.  Instead of his usual romping and exploring, I think he felt the need to protect me from unseen foes.  

  The fog did make for some interesting photographs.  When nothing else can come into focus, those figures nearest stand out strangely beautiful.  Mundane things such as the tangled smilax vines dangling from a bay tree became the perfect frame for the fog-masked sun.  To me, this is intriguing.  To others...it is probably rather boring.  Still, it does show the density of the fog as this photo was taken about 10 am.  So, Dear Cousin, it really is that thick.