The Fog of Hengelo.

Photos: Somerset, England

Yesterday, I woke up to an enchanting, magical world. Tiny drops of rain floating in the air. Clouds at ground level. It was like being in Avalon. Except that there was neither an Arthur nor a Morgan Le Fay. No nymphs or fairies. No forging of the excalibur. No Merlin. In fact, it was just The Fog of Hengelo.

I went outside in my backyard. I tried catching the tiny droplets in my palm. It felt like re-living my 5th grade again when Mrs. Digo, our Science teacher, taught us about precipitation and condensation. I could almost hear her voice whispering in my ears, `when the visibility is less than 200 meters, it´s fog. When it's somewhere between 1-2 kms, it´s mist.´

The visibility was so poor, I could not see anything. Not my backyard. Or my neighbor´s fence. Nothing. It´s actually like being blind.... except that you are not blind. You can see. You think you know where you're going. At the same, you see nothing and you don't know where you're going. Ahh.... this is fog, I told myself. Just like what Mrs. Digo taught us.

Living in Europe still continues to fascinate me. The mass of fog.... the thick mist.... the large hailstones... the flurry snow.... the crisp floral scent of springtime... the damp stench of autumn.... the intrusive spicy summers.... the mystic winter. These were all new to me seven years ago, but everytime I see or experience them it's always like the first time. My jaws would drop and my eyes would grow big out of excitement. And like an eager child, I smile from ear to ear! lol