The fog is a familiar visitor on the Maine coast. It can move like a quick intruder, venturing in at the front window, drifting across the house and out the back, leaving the air and surfaces cool and clammy from its damp fingerprints. Other times, the fog sits, heavy and still, infusing the entire landscape with moisture and a weighty silence. In a heavy fog the world grows so quiet around you, so motionless and almost breathless, you might come to believe you're the only living creature left on Earth.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Creative Writing: Fog and Stillness
The nice thing about forcing myself to put some of my own writing here each week is that it gives me a chance to edit things I'd written before. The paragraph below, for instance, said virtually the same thing yesterday, but was made up of almost entirely different words. Now I wish I had kept the "before" version to show the difference.