Bryan Tipton

I left my apartment Saturday morning to perfectly clear skies with unlimited visibility. The ocean and hillsides looked beautiful bathed in unfiltered sunlight. The weather was fantastic. I drove through an enchantingly clear San Diego morning to attend figure drawing workshop.

In the late evening I went outside to take my trash to the dumpster. A thick and eerie fog had enveloped everything, impairing visibility past 50 feet. The mist hung in the air like a visceral entity. On the late night news I saw that the airport had to cancel flights.

A long time ago I read Stephen King's haunting short story, "The Mist." It involved a fog that consumed a small town and a group of people found themselves trapped in a grocery store. Anyone that stepped outside quickly met their demise via vicious animal attack, including a pterodactyl.

Whenever I'm immersed in fog I immediately conjure up that story. It adds an atmospherical mystique to the experience. I'm not sure if I'd like the story to come true or not. On one hand it would suck to be eaten by a large monster. On the other hand, I'd really like to see a pterodactyl.