Misty Mountain Hop

Yesterday, a weather advisory was issued in San Francisco due to a dense layer of fog that was covering the Bay Area.



I heard this from a pilot because I was 35,000 feet in the air, on an airplane. He said there was a chance we might go into a holding pattern as we approached the airport. Luckily, we didn't or I surely would have been late for work.

Honestly, though, the fog was thick. When it hovers so low and heavy, it feels as though there's no visibility at all. Sometimes I wonder how pilots do it.



Flying through the air, in a cloud of white. Are we landing? Is it soon? And then suddenly, in what feels like 10 feet from the runway, there is the land.

I always say a little silent "thank you life" when this happens. I suppose gray skies are expected during this time of year. Especially in higher altitudes or on the east coast, when ominous skies tell of a storm approaching.

If the sun shined everyday, would we appreciate it as much as when it shows its face after a long hiatus? I, for one, love the fog.



I love how it reminds me of when I first moved to San Francisco. Those first few mornings, waking up to a new kind of morning. A new kind of waking up.



The misty air hangs in the city like a mobile, softening the entrance into the day.



Emboldening the details that might otherwise go unnoticed. Only to slowly burn off, presenting the sun.

All photos taken by me on particularly foggy days.