le brouillard

By Leslie Parks - Friday, April 20, 2012

I just love fog.  I love the way it wraps around the landscape almost caressing it, holding it close.  I lov the way voices move through it, secretive and hushed.  I love the softness of it and the glow that it creates when it dances with the lights.  I love the stillness of it in the early mornings.  I love the way it is pronounced in french. It feels mysterious and adventurous.  Fog makes me think of all sorts of things:  tugboats in the morning, late night strolls in Paris (not that I've experienced that), clandestine meetings, passing of notes, men in fedoras and raincoats, any Rosemary Sutcliff books about old Roman occupied Britan, romance.  Silly, I know but that is what I associate with fog.  Hollywood has a hold of me I guess.  Sometimes we get fog here and finally I drug a child out of the house to snag some photos.  Some of my favorite photos on pinterest is early morning or late at night black and white photos with fog.  Someday I want a coffee table book of my photos in black and white of foggy scenes.  I'm planning now.

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