out of the blue

Sarah likes my beard. I mostly keep it because she likes it. But there are sometimes unforeseen consequences to my beard-wearing.

For example, tonight Josh suggested a short walk along the river. We went outside into the cold Spokane night and discovered a thick fog, where St. Al's twin crosses hung like phantoms in the air. We walked down to the river and crossed to the other side. We brushed our way past tendrils of fog discussing art and education even as the fog pressed close into the gaps between tree branches, adorned each streetlight with an eerie halo, and artistically blended the various nighttime elements together into one muted masterpiece. The very breath of the city became tangible.

The river itself was dark. The fog left the water an inky slate color, robbing it of whatever light might waver upon its surface. Every opposite bank was invisible and unreal. We encroached upon the fringes of downtown, a grid of streetlights and dark store windows, but turned aside onto the dark paths through Riverfront Park. The water falling below the dam was muffled. It passed beneath us unnoticed as we crossed the river a second time.

We walked the familiar path home, cut across a corner of campus and watched a streetlight shine sharply through the needles of a dew-dappled spruce. We came up to the apartment and walked in. My glasses immediately fogged up. Josh laughed, and said "Dude, you've got to look in a mirror." My beard was hung with water droplets, having passed through about three miles of thick Spokane fog. I felt a sudden kinship with coniferous trees. It seems I may have to take up calling my beard a "fog-strainer". Especially if I get old and venerable enough to pull it off.