one hundred twenty two

MIDDAY FOG

The morning fog was surreal to this desert rat. My tent is small but well ventilated to avoid internal condensation. Each morning the dew was always heavy. 

I missed camping under the stars without a tent as I usually do in Arizona. My down filled sleeping bag began to smell like a wet duck and my clothes never dried completely. This was how I had grown up in Ohio. I remember trying to cut the grass in early morning, so this was nothing new. 

If you want green you get fog dew and rain. The desert dryness has it's perks but green is very special and well worth the inconvenience.

The morning fog was usually gone by nine o'clock, but somedays it hung around and somedays it came back again out of the blue. 

The entire trip down the coast was a new weather experience but the weather gods were kind to me. It was raining where I was going and raining where I had been, but never where I was.