The fog lay gently on the lake this morning as I left for my daily walk. A loon called from beyond my field of vision.The colors of the morning faded into the gray dampness.

When I was very young we lived by the ocean, where the fog often lay thick and heavy over my neighborhood. I remember marveling at how the small circle of visibility moved with me as I walked in my saddle shoes the six blocks to school. In the distance I could hear the foghorn at the lighthouse warning unwary ships away from the rocky cliffs.

As a child the fog was comforting to me, muffling the noise of a busy world, closing in around me like a reassuring presence while the foghorn’s lullaby accompanied me in my bed.

As an adult, I no longer welcome the fog. I want to know where I’m going and control…