When I was little, I used to stay some summers at my Aunt Mariel’s house, where the fog would roll right up to the back porch some nights. I could see it from my room, which was really a home office with a twin mattress. I was afraid of that fog. It was beautiful and terrible at the same time. I loved the smell of the lake and the mist, but when the fog would roll right up to the house, I was afraid if I stepped off the porch I’d fall down into an abyss.