Last week, I went for a short walk in the late afternoon. It was sunny, and although it wasn’t warm, it was tolerably above zero.
Then the temperature plunged, and the first real winter fog of the season settled in.
I’m fortunate in that I don’t mind fog. Probably because I grew up along the notoriously foggy coastline of northern California.
It’s not pleasant to drive in, but otherwise, I find it a more comforting and comfortable weather condition than, say, sheets of rain or hip-deep snow.
Many in the Lake Geneva area succumb to gloomy moods during our long foggy sessions, which can last for weeks. I took most of these photos early this morning. The fog had thinned a bit, allowing a much longer view than I’ve seen in days. I can even see the roofs of neighboring houses.
The garden has gone into sugar-frosted glory. The fog itself floats in tiny crystals, and after three days of this, the layers of fine ice have become thick and heavy.
In a pinch, though, there’s always a simple solution to escape the fog: A half-hour drive up into the Jura, above the fog line. Our village is at an altitude of around 1500 ft (470 m), and I can often see a tinge of blue above, where the blanket of fog stops and sunshine begins.
Every so often, the lower part of our road will be in the fog, while we look out across a sunny sea of white. Not today, though. And probably not this week.
This is the week an ambitious patio dandelion thought it had one last chance at seeding out before winter. It didn’t.