For a while last evening it grew foggy again, but it never became very dense. It didn't even reach the can't-see-across-the-street stage. Then a wind came up, and for the rest of the night it has hummed through the treetops, clearing the fog, though the forest is still roofed with a dark mass of cloud. Mist has been swirling about, though. The stiff breeze sends an occasional drop flying onto my skin, and as quickly evaporates it, so there is only the briefest sensation of no more than a pinprick of icy dampness. I could probably stay outdoors for hours, enjoying the feeling of that mist, and come back in perfectly dry. It is quite splendidly invigorating, and I wish I didn't need to sleep. It would be nice to spend the morning watching the gray light grow to reveal the green winter grass in the fields with their borders of swaying pines. Instead, I must let the morning birds sing me to sleep, so that my schedule will not grow even more catawampus than it has already become.