The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
– Carl Sandburg

Lately, it has been uncommonly foggy here in Los Angeles. In the almost five decades that I have lived here, I have never seen anything like it: these strange fogs have run the gamut of thick, impenetrable morning vapors that fade into noon haze, grey-brown fog blankets that are choked with smog, and tremulous white mists curling around our mountain ranges evoking visions of epic High Fantasy or coastal horror. Perhaps a few Great Old Ones have taken residence in Long Beach harbor?

Every morning for weeks we have woken to a sea of mist. It feels part and parcel with the unending strangeness of the past few years.