there is a certain feel to foggy mornings. i don't know if it's the distant horn sounding or the stagnant smell of the air, but it never fails to transport me back to a time where my eyes were wide and my face fresh with innocence.

my childhood was plagued with mornings like these. of course, during these days i didn't mind the fog and barely remember ever thinking to myself, "gee, it's cold outside." oftentimes, during my quick stint in the car on the way to school each monring, i would gaze down the mountain towards the wind channel that made up the middle portion of the island. i couldn't see the flat stretch, nor could i see the west mountains, nor could i see anything beyond a few miles down the road, but i could see the beauty of the landscape and, if i had realized it then, i would have thought about how incredibly lucky i was to be privaledged to wake up to such a mystic state.

and, like any unrealizing youth, the gravity of the situation was lost on me. it's not until so many years later that i realize what an experience the morning fog bestows: driving down the two-seventeen at eight thirty in the morning, i can't help but roll down my windows and take a few deep breaths. seaweed, salt, and the faint scent of nature breaking down nature-- it's oh so welcoming and starts the day off right.