Tonight's Fog

I generally romanticise London's fog as this magnificent, picturesque pinnacle of beauty from moisture, so thick you can't see anything beyond your reach except lights staggered in varying degrees of shroudedness. The lights, and anything else bright--thus also accentuating dark spots--fade into a gray matte and reveal everything's distance.

In my visions of London Fog, there are always coffee shops and old street lamps with people in top hats and fine attire making beautiful silhouettes while they discuss the news of the day. Probably World War II, and Churchill.

Well, tonight's fog was nothing like that. I saw none, rounded a corner, and we were in it. But it wasn't quite like driving into a wall. It was more like maneuvering a car into a fold in a blanket. The mist was a cake of layers strewn haphazardly about in a three-dimensional stack on the road. The layers were not flat or perfect, but they had distinct borders marking differing densities.

As I pulled in towards town, I could see some of these layers drifting into Heaven, presumably contributing to its cloud floor, as they kissed goodbye the tips of the tallest thing they could find, be it a hotel roof or hospital spire. Such layers were underlit and sometimes inside lit, and made brilliant floating shrouds of lightness.

I decided I should share this with the world, so I saw a brick road lined with lamps with a little of the fog rolling through and parked to capture the moment. Hopefully you enjoy. I think it was prettier than the London Fog of my fantasy.