The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
It was one of those fall mornings, when the sun rises unseen, shrouded in thick fog. Beautiful in its own way, mysterious and cool and damp.
I don't know how to photograph fog. It never turns out the way my eyes see it, or the way it looks in the lens. Maybe that's part of the mysterious side of fog, that it keeps its identity hidden from view, and only lives in our memories.
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