The fog came in on Madison this evening, and after singing there was a little driving through it, moisture on the windshield and on the hood, everything wet and dark. This afternoon reminded me, with the moisture, the low clouds and quiet, of my two years in Germany, except that there in Friedburg we always had the twin smells of diesel fumes and beet processing. Neither of these is much of a problem here.
And now, tonight, a PBS special on Eugene O'Neill, and a reading of part of Long Days Journey Into Night, in which a character describes his sense of being "lost in the fog again." It's been a long time since I taught an O'Niell play, too long.