Belfast Fog

For most of my life, I remember hearing about the iconic London Fog.  Although I have never experienced the London Fog firsthand, I would imagine that the Belfast Fog would share rank with the London Fog.  When I opened the front door in the pre-dawn glow of the Belfast Fog, it gave the sensation of being in a smoke-filled kitchen.  Mother Nature had put on her magician’s hat and pulled tight the curtain of fog to create a disappearing act for anything at more than a 10 yard distance.  Hazy silhouettes gradually morphed into humans as we approached them on our morning walk.  Both Dave and I even developed drops of fog-sponsored dew resting on our hair strands, framing our face this wistful morning.  On a typical morning, we would have had the privileged view of two of Ireland’s famed hills looking down either direction of our street.  On this morning, however, both had hidden themselves in the mist, with gray haze replacing their perches.  I have truly never witnessed a fog such as the one we experienced on this morning.  There have been moments in the U.S. where I would describe a fog cloud as “pea soup”; this fog, however, would need a more apt description such as an “Irish wool sweater” covering the land.  The eeriness of it all, not having knowledge of what lay before us in the fog, was an experience not soon to be forgotten.  Conversely, the excitement of the unknown, the adventure as it were, was reflective of our journey here thus far.  We had to go slower at points, ensuring that crosswalks were clear of cars and paths absent of puddles, but we made it  through the foggy walk just as we are making it through the unexpected journey in our opportunity this year in Belfast.