The fog is rolling in. I can see it billowing around the camp lights and turning the outside world opaque. The moon is a vague, whitish patch above. the fog is comforting, like an old blanket, shielding and protecting me from the harsh clarity of the pinpoint stars and the alien blackness. Not that there's anything wrong with the stars and the night sky, but if there were, the fog would allows us to move unseen beneath it.

I've always liked fog. I've always liked the night too. I'm inside though, listening to the rattling of the heater and the out-of-sync tickings of several clocks. That and the music pouring from my computer.

There must always be music pouring from somewhere. It's what makes it all worthwhile. Music and fog. And night. I celebrate it.