It has been so dry here of late, that we have been missing the ghostly presence of fog. I'm a fog worshipper. Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, fog was more common than navigators enjoyed. I lived right next to a bay--we called it being "on the bay." My bedroom was on the southwest corner of the little house my father built. The rain and even sometimes the windblown spray from the saltwater, would lash that side of the house during storms. I loved it! I also grew to love the feeling of isolation which came over me when fog enveloped our home. The sounds carried more than usual. Voices could be heard more clearly. Here, too, in the Appalachians, we are often in the fog. The sound of the train rumbles more roundly. And again, I love the feeling that we are on an island, alone. The mist is beautiful as it shrouds the limbs, creating a totally different landscape. It feels...snug.