Shrouded

Minimal deck art AKA propane fire pit.

  Most mornings are foggy this time of year, a fact we weren’t as viscerally aware of during our 35 years down on the flat land of Whiteaker neighborhood. Up here from our perch in the south hills, we see it clearly, so to speak, through floor-to-ceiling living room windows. Often the Coburg hills to the north are completely shrouded. This morning when we first got up, we could see the always-lit upper windows of Market of Choice a couple blocks away, but now they are invisible. The fog moves around, thins and thickens, rises and sinks, usually dissipating during the first hour or two after sunrise. Fog is a significant part of our morning entertainment before we move on to word games (her) and stupid headlines (me).