Morning Fog, Growing Boy

Of all the weather that passes through our lives, fog is my favorite. I like to walk in it, drive in it, and sit still and watch it move. I like it best in the dark. The way light softens and spreads, how streetlamps bloom and car headlights turn into halos, makes the world look like it belongs in a film. Early morning fog carries its own quiet, and on a Sunday, when the town is slow to rise, that quiet deepens.

I left the house before my oldest boy was awake. Before I stepped out, I asked if he wanted to come along and photograph with me. Sleep was stronger than my invitation, so he rolled over and I went out alone.

About an hour later, my phone buzzed. He had asked his mom to text and see if I would come back for him. I was glad he changed his mind. I worried the fog might lift and we would lose our chance, but time with him was worth more than any photograph.

We began close to home, circling the familiar streets, then headed over Trapper’s Loop into Ogden Valley near Pine View Dam. We reached the top of the loop just as the sun slipped over the horizon and poured a warm, golden light over everything. For a few minutes, the fog and the sun shared the world, and the hills seemed to glow from within.

The sun went to work quickly and the fog began to thin. We chased the last of it along the lake, stopping here and there to make a few pictures. Sometimes the fog clung to the water. Sometimes it wrapped itself around a stand of trees and then let go.

It was a simple drive on a quiet Sunday, but it felt like more than that. I had the fog I love, the camera in my hands, and my son in the seat beside me. I would not trade that morning for anything.

Before the day ended, I slipped out to the garage to test a light. The air out there was sharp and unfriendly, so we worked quickly. My son sat in front of the camera, wrapped in a blanket, wiggling and bouncing as he tried to stay warm. I managed only a few frames of him looking my way before he had had enough. In his mind it was torture, and if I am honest, at his age I would have felt the same.

Happy Thanksgiving!

(We found this timely gem painted on a train as we neared home. Perfect timing for this week.)