Fog | Quincy, WA | January 2020

Fog is always mysterious, but standing in heavy mist swirled by an unfelt breeze is even more unsettling. You can see the air. It flows in currents like water, rising and falling, circling back in eddies caused by trees, boulders, me. With my back to the wind, I detect the faint furls of a foggy wake — my imprint on the morning. My moving hand also sends ripples through the veil. Clearly, I unknowingly stir the world wherever I go.