Sometimes there's fog

Hello void. Sometimes, there’s fog.

Not in a difficult way, or an obstructive way. There’s just fog, and it’s around you and around everything and between you and those things, and you think: “Better get the camera out.”

So you get the camera out and you go out walking in the fog, because it’s a quiet morning with nothing else planned, and there’s a pandemic so you’re not really allowed to do anything else except walk. So you walk, in the fog, with your camera.

What is it you’re trying to capture? You know, when this happens? Is it the fog itself? Is it the way it hides things? Maybe, if you’re capturing hidden things, you’re capturing nothing at all, because after all they’re hidden, right? There’s only fog there now, and by definition, fog is hardly there at all.

So maybe you’re trying to capture what might be there. Perhaps your goal is to find hints of reality, poking through the fog. The hazier and harder they are to see, the better the results.

Maybe though, you’re trying to capture everything that isn’t fog. The stuff that forces past the fog, the stuff that insists on reaching your retina. That stuff must have a certain quality about it, to overcome the let’s-hide-the-world determination of the fog. And that stuff changes as you move. Those trees over there were hidden before, now they’ve told the fog to make way, and photons are bouncing off surfaces as expected.

Our friends, the photons.

Sometimes there’s sun, too, but the pictures look different and the photons fear nothing. I also go walking on those days.

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