A very thin, ground hugging fog has formed tonight. My neghbor's back porchlight shines up into the trees, and the fog makes it seem as though they were wrapped in swirls of smoke. Yet the layer of fog is so thin that the stars are not obscured, and I see Orion above the dim branches of the oaks. The moist scent of the air is accompanied by an undertone of leaves just beginning to decay, and the ever present resin of the pines. I scuff my feet across the pavement, just to hear the muffled echo of my steps.