Fog and Brains

Foggy days lately.  The other day the fog never lifted and it was so thick we couldn't see across the dog park.  

Possibly related, in a brain-chemistry kind of way, the scintillating scotoma has made a come-back.  I'd been mostly good about limiting my dark chocolate intake, but it seems like three days over the last fourteen or so I've been getting the lightning staircase in my vision -- this time more in my left eye than my right.   At this point I'm wondering if changing light levels play a role.  

There's usually not much of a headache, but it does make reading difficult.  And whenever I experience several of these in a row, I wonder in the back of my head if this is indicative of my brain slowly self-destructing.  Unfortunately, the auras don't actually appear to be related to anyone's astral body, nor do they appear to be earthbound entities or geologic ley lines.  Will I spend my last months with holes in my vision, with lightning staircases providing an uneven break to the dullness, unable to look at computer screens, and forced to write longhand (or on a typewriter)?  Oh well, I guess what this means in the short run is that I'll have to give up really dark chocolate and limit my black tea intake.

Dog Park Moon

Late December and early January nights were supposed to be good for watching the waxing crescent moon pass by Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn.  Since it's just after the Winter Solstice, the evenings and mornings have been cloudy and overcast, so I hadn't really seen much of the moon (or the planets, for that matter) for about a week and a half.

When we took Aoife to the dog park a few evenings ago, just before sunset, the sky cleared up enough to show a waxing half moon.  I surprised myself by managing to take an in-focus picture of the moon bracketed by tree branches.  

I think Mark thought I was particularly daring to bring the camera into the Very Muddy Dog Park (we'd had two inches of rain a few days earlier, on top of the previous week's eight inches of snow).   I was more worried that Somebody Else's Dog might jump on me with their muddy paws than I was of slipping or dropping the camera into a puddle.   I managed to get a few photos of Aoife, but the majority of them were blurry action shots of her chasing things.  

The fog, which had rolled back around noon, reasserted its dominion over the landscape as the sun set.   By the time we got home, the sky was a dark grey blanket, unspangled by stars, and the night was moonless.

Remembering November Shadows

I took these photos last November.  We tend to get grey, foggy days in November, which often turn the sunrises into smudges of increasing light.  Some mornings are greyer than others, which results in no distinct sunrise.  Other days, the sun rises like a faintly glowing perl in a field of silver light.   On those latter days, sunlight weakly shining behind groves and copses throws bars of shadow westward.


There'd been enough times driving that I'd wanted to stop the car to photograph the fog and shadow play that I knew I wanted to head out one Saturday morning and see what kinds of images I could get.  Mark went along, too.


This particular Saturday wasn't as foggy and overcast as the previous work days, but I managed to get a few shots that I was happy with.  I had hoped to catch the shadows in the fog, but caught instead how the sunlight was shining through the trees.


I didn't bring my tripod, which Mark was probably grateful for.


Apparently, I took some accidental photos.  I vaguely remember playing with a black-and-white setting on the camera, but I don't remember these particular shots.   I think I was hurrying to catch up to Mark, who had kept walking while I was trying to get the perfect shot. They're very arty.


I like the foggy days for the sense of mystery they bring, and the muffling blanket of silence that drapes over everything.  On they days where the balance of sunlight and fog is just right, I like the way trees and fences and flagpoles and flying birds have their masses extend into some shadow dimension -- as if your sense of vision had expanded into a hitherto unforeseen direction in space and time.


When the grey days (and rain) extend to weeks, all I want to do is hibernate.


On the gym front:  Went to the gym Thursday and did the new aerobic routine.  I've managed to put together a gym mix, which I need to tweak a little because some songs are just a little too fast.  Alas, the streaming service I use doesn't list the beats per minute, so I'm having to do things by ear.  It's weird not being able to hear anyone else or clinking of weights with my head earbuds... even without music playing not much outside noise gets in.  I'm thinking I might alternate earbud-free days just so I don't feel so anti-social.

Foggy Monday Artsy Walk

Monday, the last day of the year, wanted to see if I could see the Moon before it passed by Venus, Jupiter, and Mercury over the next few days.  But the sky was dark and starless.   Thinking that if it was foggy, at least I might be able to get some good fog photographs, I sauntered outside and to the local park.

On foggy days, when I'm driving The Child to school, often I wish that I could stop driving a take some photos.  I'll be zooming along one curve in the road, and the sun will blaze over the hilltops, and dye rising silver wisps of fog crimson and gold.  The copse running through the park become spears of sable shadow.  And then the idiot in the car in front of me (who certainly is a worse driver than I am) will do something stupid requiring my attention. 

But today I wasn't going to be in a car, and I'd have my camera ready. 

The frigid air made me glad that I had layered up with fingerless gloves, a polar fleece jacket, and my grey-green wool cloak.  I kept the camera under my cloak so it wouldn't freeze solid, all the time wondering how much it made me look like I had a concealed gun. 

I got to the park.  The pre-dawn darkness turned to pre-dawn grey.  The thickness of the fog made itself evident as the sun failed to materialize; and the trees, grass, and joggers remained studies in black and white.  I walked along the path and snapped photos of the lampposts, which were still on. 

I hadn't realized before how crooked and beat-up-looking many of them are.

As the morning continued to slowly fade in, various dog walkers and joggers passed by.  Mark accuses me of looking like a homeless person when I wear this particular cloak, and the state of my hair (vaguely untamed) wasn't helping.   I felt the evaluation of the regular path-goers change as soon as they saw the camera (oh, crazy photographer; probably harmless). 

I walked along the path, taking artsy photographs of where Amazon Slough had flooded its banks, and waited for the sun to pop up and do its crimson-dyeing magic -- but we had a secret dawn clothed in grey.  All the lamps turned off and I knew it was going to be one of those dark and twilight days where the lights of the sky are sourceless.   Also, I'd left The Child asleep at home and I wondered what he was up to.

So I came home.  Smokey greeted me.

More photos here:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/nh8E1udnzrZov9sJ8