fog

If you're from the Central/North coast, chances are that you know about fog. I mean, know it, like a person you live with: its habits, its patterns. It becomes predictable in a way. You can tell when it will burn off (if it's low), when it's staying for the day (if it's higher), when it's coming in at night (when it gets windy) and when it won't come in at all (on those rare, warm nights). Or at least this is the Carmel Valley version of fog.

Despite my familiarity with the phenomenon, it still surprises me sometimes. The beauty in its mystery, and how it feels like you could walk across it, nothing more than a dimpled pillow--certainly more than air and water.

A few days ago I went on an astounding hike. The trail was familiar, but the view felt brand new.

Starting out, below the fog:

Inching higher, obscuring the trail:

At the top, sunshine over the clouds: