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# Fog
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/fog/
- Published: 2026-03-05T15:40:19.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:11:07.000Z
- Description: “Fog,” a stream of consciousness of imagination and memory as triggered by the weighty weather, written March 5, poem 064 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo, "Forest in Fog," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Dry Humor, Petty, Poems, Snarky, Books, Breakfast, Cinema, Deep Thoughts by Diana, Eating, Film, Fog, Food, Homage, Imagination, Inside my Brain, March, Stream of Consciousness, TV Shows, Weather, Winter, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

As if yesterday wasn't   
plenteously dreary,  
this morning I awake to   
an impenetrable wall of fog   
— the hostile kind —   
the kind that appears it  
could be carrying contagion  
or a malevolent god force   
transporting ill omens  
to a heedless population.  
  
My expeditiously vivid   
train of thought   
accelerates into warp drive  
racing through memories   
seeking morbidly   
apt references.  
  
I am transported —   
I feel myself now  
on the bow   
of a salmon fishing boat  
off Puget Sound,   
in the wee hours —   
so I know now that I am in   
*Snow Falling on Cedars*   
— a book read with,   
then the film screened  
for my Honors English classmates  
and me in ninth grade.  
  
I can simultaneously feel  
the hard molded navy desk chair,  
the too-short icy steel legs   
pressed uncomfortably   
into my own filly-length legs.  
  
The hideous greige righty-top  
cuts into my hunched form.  
I feel on my skin the humidity,  
the Pacific Northwest's  
clammy moisture of the sea,  
oppressing my vision and soul.  
  
And then I’m swept away  
by murky tides.  
The classroom fully fades —   
and now I’m *Lost*   
on a remote beach  
in the tropics.  
  
It's meant to be   
uncharted,  
deep in the   
vast South Pacific.   
  
On the sand   
I spy twisted fuselage  
in my peripheral —   
is that a plane?  
  
But my brain cuts in,  
as it's wont to,  
to clarify that the   
TV set I’m on  
is actually filmed on Oahu —  
  
But before I can   
correct myself further  
an ominous charcoal mist  
envelops me —   
The Smoke Monster?  
  
*Ah-ah*!   
My initial suspicion  
was right —   
this fog is killer  
(Press the button!).  
  
***Di-duh-di-duh!***   
The toaster oven dings  
bringing me back  
to the mundane dreariness   
of a foggy Thursday  
in suburbia.  
  
I rise from my pensive seat  
to collect a pair   
of chive biscuits  
  
—that I’d fished   
from the freezer   
like a body   
from the cold sea —  
  
to revive me   
from this dank day.  
  
I exhale with relief,   
convinced that I  
will find grounding  
in these baked goods,  
which will surely drive   
Pantone hues into this  
monochrome morning.  
  
I bite through crisp crust  
of the first breakfast treat  
and encounter pockets   
of oozy Cheddar cheese.  
  
How smart Past Me was   
back in January  
to freeze a few of these for   
a future indulgence, and  
how needed this are today.  
  
I begin to sense pigments   
seep back into my world:   
through green specks   
of herbs that fleck  
the craggy golden surface.  
  
Molten butter  
glowing in Beta carotene  
drops down like gold paint  
along my greedy fingers  
pushing savory crumbs  
into my awaiting mouth.  
  
If I can't change the weather   
at least I've got myself a   
color-drenched meal and a   
technicolor imagination.