A Foggy Longing

The fog coming in to work this morning was heavy, which always surprises me, living here in Maine. I assume that it’s normal for this area, but it’s still always a bit of a shock to go outside and not be able to see more than twenty feet in any direction. I’m already on the lookout for deer and wild turkeys and porcupines on the drive to the office. In the fog, I’m on the lookout for… everything. The fog in every other place I’ve lived or visited makes me miss the fog from back home in San Francisco. San Francisco fog feels alive, rolling in like an animal from out in the Pacific Ocean, tendrils visibly reaching down streets, between buildings and trees. Whereas other fogs feel like they just fade into existence and root to that spot, San Franciscan fog pours itself into the city, thick and chilly and endless. I don’t get homesick for San Francisco anymore, since the city isn’t anything like the one I lived in in as a boy and young man. But I do desperately miss that San Franciscan…