The Fog Comes On Big Lion Feet

The TV newscaster wants me to watch the 10 p.m. news, so he headlines the biggest news of the day: Fog.

Fog.

Right.

Fog.

"The FOG returns," he stares right at me, warning me. "More at 10."

Fog. HA! The FOG is headlining the news down here in Corpus Christi.

Oh, I am so self-righteous.

Today, the FOG returns. Nearly all day.  I've never seen anything like it. It blankets the Earth. No color exists in my world. It's black, white and shades of gray. People resemble little gray carrots moving through a cloud. I see shadows where buildings used to be. Birds sitting on a fence look like knobs.

I hear the ocean, but cannot see it until I'm almost upon it. 

The fog blows in thick, like heavy smoke from a brush fire, everywhere. As in a Stephen King novel, it moves toward me, threatening to envelope me. Then it does. I see, feel and smell it wrapping its tendrils around me, overcoming me, encompassing me and everything around me.

I touch it back. It feels cold, damp, palpable. 

This is the kind of fog that headlines the news.