For a random interlude …
You know, I love fog. It is my favorite weather phenomenon. Is that weird? It just seems utterly magical to me. Being in fog is like being in another dimension. It always seems to me like the literal veil between the worlds. 

Fog on a river is one of the many special subtypes of fog. These are some photos of the fog’s changing patterns over the Monongahela River valley near near where my mom and grandma live, in the tiny village of Isabella in southwestern Pennsylvania. It’s amazing to me that this wild foggy river is like three blocks from my grandma’s house. I used to lie in bed when I spent the night there as a kid, thinking about the river down there, out the window,   at the end of a long slope that spans several back and front yards. Then there’s a wide, muddy, uneven patch of brambles that discourages walking all the way to the actual water’s edge. It’s difficult to get through, but to me, so worth it, just to be down there, in that energy.

Being in the fog is like being in a temple. This is one of the sacred places in the area where I grew up, that is still my family home. 


The Divine Mother watches, at the bottom of the frame; fog hangs low in the river valley


The colors in the waves. The coal bin. The sunlight.


Through the kitchen window


The fog lifts and spreads across the hillside. This view is what we would call in SWPA, “down around.” 🙂


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