I saw the fog rising from the valley at dusk. It was a tumbling mass of darkness boiling into the clear cobalt of evening sky. Within a few minutes, it had been obscured by both darkness and the condensing moisture which had given halos to all the lights along the block. Within half an hour, the forest was shrouded with fog, and glowing blooms would sprout from the glaring headlights of cars heading up the nearby hills. Soon, even those were swallowed by the increasingly thick cocoon which had woven itself over everything. Sounds were muffled, and the visible world shrank to a few ghostly trees. Now, a dozen steps from my house, I can be wrapped in dank, scented darkness, isolated from any discernable surroundings. I can imagine I hear the moss grow.