It’s 1:30 a.m. and after about an hour of e-mail I decided that I was too tired to do even a linky little entry. I logged off and spent a minute or two staring out the window at the street below in a way that was something like pensive...if it were possible to be empty-headed and pensive at the same time. Which it isn’t. But maybe you get the idea.

I went to perform the washin’-brushin’-flossin’ routine, and when I came back and turned out the lights, I saw that fog had started to roll in - it was actually rolling (see also my astonishment that a "blanket of snow" really looks like a blanket...I am a child of the desert).

The fog made the neon sign on the jazz club across the street look fuzzy. It put a halo on the street lamp. It swallowed the trees. It made everything seem quieter. It erased distinctions, so it erased time. The blurred outline of bodies were wearing clothes without discernible fashion. The street lamp could have been gaslight.

The neon sign was still neon, but it was so diffuse it was easy to overlook.