Saturday, I woke up, and my running friends were all gone with other commitments. I don’t mind running alone as I enjoy getting lost in my own thoughts. I love running in a light rain, but I haven’t had fog for a while. We have been experiencing a lot of rain these past few weeks, and a thick fog covered the hills.

Like a shroud, the grey calm clung in the streets, in the little crannies of the shrubs. The muted street lights and the blurred colors of the hills reminded me of one of my first vivid memories when I was little.

When I was around three, my best friend, Traci, lived at the end of our street. I loved playing at her house. She had a trunk full of dress-ups that we would play with. A dark fog must have rolled in because my mom sent my brother, Chris, to come and get me. Chris was four years older than I. For some reason, Chris had our new kitten with him. Chris and I walked home in the thick fog, and I felt safe. I remember it was a very dense fog, and I could barely see my hand before me.

What makes this memory even more sacred is my brother, who rescued me that day, was taken from us 13 years later, when I was 15. Too soon. Drunk driver. Time moves so swiftly that I wish I had more sweet memories of my brother like that. 

Saturday, I ran to the highest point above the fog that morning and looked down upon the little valley in the golf course. White and dense, a sea of white, holding the sun at bay and hoping that my brother was running along with me. I believe our loved ones are near, and I hope he knows I was thinking of him that morning. What does fog remind you of?