Two weeks ago I drove by Delaware Park on my way to work. It was the first cool morning of the season, a harbinger. The meadow was full of thick fog, the sun slicing through the clouds bathing the field in a warm golden glow. I did not have time to stop, a full plate of work before me.
A fortnight without a foggy morning, the air too dry or to wet.
Today I was early getting ready for work and was rewarded by a thin layer of fog and did not want to miss the chance again.
The meadow fogs over in the spring, winter and fall early in the morning, depending on the weather. You can feel it in the air when its right. Some mornings the fog pours out into the surrounding neighborhoods, covering my morning commute like a thick blanket. Other days, like today, it’s a light sheet barely masking the dew covered grass.
A spring survey of the meadow fresh and grey fills you up like a glass of water glistening in the sun, refreshing the soul after a long winters thirst.
Winter fog sucks the warmth from your core, taunting you for daring to rise and face the day. Silence disappearing from the countryside in a still air.
In an early fall air, heavy with grey sheets of melancholy, you innocently linger, idle thoughts set adrift in a grey sea. The temperate morning, like blinders, shielding you from the wailing winds, naked woods and meadows brown that are to come. I embrace those morning and let my mind sail.
All photos were shot with my Fujifilm x100s.