Fog part 2. Now with rain!

I’ve never really understood why fog and rain was interesting to other people but that’s probably because I’ve never bothered to ask them. The region in which I inhabit is characterized(by people who don’t live here) with heavy rainfall year round and while that isn’t entirely true(summer is fantastic), it’s part of the reason I like living here so much. I often hear my family talk about moving to Hawaii of California, somewhere warm. I can certainly see the appeal but I would never feel at home there. The strongest memory I have of Hawaii is the day it began to rain. The sun was setting and it cast a brilliant orange and red shadow across the clouds above us just as it began to sprinkle softly. It was still warm outside, probably around 70 degrees (F), and as the rain fell upon us it was comforting and soft and, most importantly, not cold. I have no sounds to attach to this memory, but I can feel the rain whenever I think back on it. That is how I most strongly remember Hawaii and exactly why I wouldn’t want to live there. Its warm and beautiful and even the rain seems inviting but it would never be “home”. Home is cold and dark, the air is crisp and bites at your lungs when you breathe in too deeply. If you go jogging in the morning, your lungs with be cold and stinging before your legs even realize they are moving. Being awake that early though means you get to enjoy the fog as It rises from the fields and moves skywards to create the rain clouds later in the day. Early morning fog is simply beautiful to me, the air at the time is sharp and attacks you with its coldness. It gives the fog a feeling of harshness even though you can never get within reach. When you become used to the air and comfortable with the fog, its hard to find a more relaxing view in the morning, There is a small hill near where I live which is home for about half a dozen or so horses. It’s one of those bizarre hills on another hill that is a challenge to explain. There is a field at the base of the small hill where the horses usually congregate. Halfway up is a modest house as well as a barn for the animals. Every morning I am given the opportunity to watch the dew rise to eye level and form a cloud of fog. The ground and surrounding forest are all wet and a deep dark shade of green while everything else is bled of color. The fog seems to absorb light and grey is all that is left. It even steals my breathe from my grey lungs which try to bring in the grey air. Life slows down during those few seconds and that moment sticks with me longer than anything else I might encounter throughout the day. I remember going to California, to San Francisco, to meet the fog there. I admit I was disappointed when we finally made it to the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog was white and thick, and the air there didn’t feel right in my lungs. That was my first encounter with fog from the sea, and when I realized these two types of fog were two separate beasts. I found little relaxing in the salty air of San Fran, as we left and headed back to the dry dusty desert where there is no fog and it rains only a couple times a year. Nearly everything is brown and looks dead, even in the spring. The few plants which do turn green or bloom require immense care and are certainly not indigenous to the area. The climate there is far too different from my more drippy, drizzly, rainy preference. It seems like my body needs the rain and the moisture. I can’t stay anywhere else for too long. I’ve been in other countries with similar climates, England and Denmark, and felt rather comfortable there, almost like I could stay if given the opportunity.

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