This morning was foggy. It isn’t all that uncommon to have a foggy morning in the midwest, even this time of year, but today was something special. It was heavy, thick and solid. It hung in the air like cotton candy, and moving through it felt a bit like walking through pudding. This was the kind of fog that things happen in. This is an epic fog, filled with murderers, ne’er-do-wells, and hard-broiled private detectives. It was noir worthy fog. The kid of fog that vikings find themselves floating through before encountering a sea monster that breathes fire. The kind that leaves a chill in your bones for hours after the rest of you has warmed up.
Yeah, it was that kind of fog. The kind of fog I love.
I don’t think I’ve ever realized how much weather can affect us before. I’ve spent most of my life trying to stay indoors as much as possible, and I have gone days without ever seeing the sun shine, but gloomy late winter fog can just infect you with something. I look around at the people I’ve interacted with today, and most of them just seem more morose than usual, and I have to think its the fog that’s to blame. We’ve spent the last few weeks surviving blizzards, ice from the sky, and something they’ve made up called “thunder snows,” but sixty-degree weather with a bit of fog and cloud cover somehow turns everyone into a goth kid.
Maybe its the fact that I’m a depressing kind of guy anyway, but I like this weather. I love the way a thick, heavy fog gets into you and fills you with stories. I can understand why so many things happen in fog in books. It’s like a giant cloud of creativity pressing its weight down on you. It leaves me with all kinds of visions running through my head. Maybe the oppressive nature of the fog just makes me want to push deep inside my mind and hide from the world, but it fills me with a desire to write, and that is always a good thing.
What kind of weather affects you the most? How does a good thick fog make you feel?
Tags: creativity, fog, weather, Writing