It’s an odd and foggy day, both inside and out. I’ve been sleeping restlessly, so doubled my nighttime meds last night, and woke at 1:00 this afternoon. In retrospect, not a good idea. Sometimes my dogs are too patient.

We have been held in this grey fist for two days now. Local airports are closed, and our friendly newsfolk warn of dangerous roads. Fog is so . . . evocative. Mysterious.

Many years ago I worked nights, and walked across the bridge both late and early. This time of year was my favorite; on nights like this one, the bridge seemed to float in nothingness. At the center, it was like being alone in a thick but lovely universe. Sound and light would bend in unexpected ways. Sometimes the ducks seemed to be muttering right next to my ear; sometimes the river seemed to vanish entirely.

So it’s an evening to curl up with a good website. Tonight I recommend Issue 3 of the Carnival of Feminists at Sour Duck.