Walking Rancho Hermosa

San Luis Rey Valley 

Little Cat Feet

Fog Rivers in the San Luis Rey Valley

In California when we think of Fog, we picture in our minds eye, San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge. Here in Oceanside we have coastal fog throughout the year, and sometimes it is so dense that it is unsafe to drive. Sometimes the Fog goes inland and can become a hazard to all. Driving in these conditions is for the folks who, I guess have x-ray eyes. I can remember one time when I was in collage, living in Whittier, my future husband Robert and I exited a movie and we could not see across the street. I lived about 1 mile from the movie theater so I walked next to the driver's side of the car so we could follow the white line in the middle of the road, and I could direct the way and Robert drove. We never saw another car, or human being. It was like we were in a world by our selves and creepy to the max. I have read that in London they have fog such as this.

This morning at 6:00 AM Scosche and I set off down San Dimas and all was very quiet, the sky crystal clear and it felt like a Santa Ann condition was brewing. We used to call these conditions Santanas but the weather forecasters mostly call the condition Santa Ana. Rounding the bend in San Dimas, I could see the Valley stretched way in the distance. Rivers of Fog were curling through the San Luis Rey Riverbed, and in the subsidiaries winding their way to the riverbed. Magical it seemed, just like the Bay in San Francisco, but much more serpentine with the entanglement of the fingers of the fog in the riverbed.

The effect is surreal. The air is so clear, the mountains and hills stand out in stark purple relief, and down in the crevasses of the Valley, this whiteness, winding its way on little cat feet. So quiet, not a sound, not bird song, little Scosche looking at me like what is it, this feeling of another world within the real world. We spend time here, looking at the Valley, listening to the silence, and breathing the sweet morning air seasoned with the new growth from the rains of last month. This melding of the senses, with the blending of misty fogs and breathing in the beginnings of a new day, must be what Thoreau was writing about. Letting the soul of Nature seep into our human self, and the replenishment that this quietude brings. And so, I linger.

Now, blasting over the top of the Palomar Mountains, comes the sun. Intense it is these rays of sunshine, a visceral flooding of energy into my aging self. Young once more in my joy of this new day.

Time to go, for the day has begun, and the little cat feet down in the valley will slowly hide and become the morning dew on the meadows below...

Note: There are 7 types of fog