It’s been cold and foggy in my part of the world. I think I’m the only person I know who actually likes fog – I love the soft blanket of grey in the sky, the way the light looks when it filters through our blinds, the cozy feeling I get imagining that I could spend a day curled up in a quilt, doing my knitting and drinking hot chocolate and listening to a Val McDermid mystery before slowly and lovingly creating a pot of soup. The reality is, of course, that I spend my foggy days working in my cubical, trying to find passion for pushing papers and answering phone calls before going home and heating up leftovers for dinner.
But still, the fog calls to me in a way that sunlight never does. I never get depressed by Winter (possibly because it’s so short here!). Instead, I dread the month of August when one sticky, hot, miserable day follows another and the sun is so bright that even sunglasses don’t cut the glare.
But those days are a long way off, and until then, I will bask in a world of soft greys and whites and think cozy thoughts.
But still, the fog calls to me in a way that sunlight never does. I never get depressed by Winter (possibly because it’s so short here!). Instead, I dread the month of August when one sticky, hot, miserable day follows another and the sun is so bright that even sunglasses don’t cut the glare.
But those days are a long way off, and until then, I will bask in a world of soft greys and whites and think cozy thoughts.
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