The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Monday, October 31, 2022

Extreme clouds, Brevard NC edition

Still rainy here in Brevard and the clouds are very low in the sky here:

[Clouds are very low, low enough to cover the tree tops behind a one story building.] Talk about having our heads in the clouds …

There is no real skyline anymore here, just trees disappearing into the mist …


Extreme, no, seriously, I mean it, extreme head in the clouds, Cleveland, SC edition

The clouds lifted, the sun came out, and round 3:30pm, I said to Bunny, “Let's go to Pretty Place!”

Pretty place, aka The Fred W. Symmes Chapel, is a church up on the side of a mountain, just across the North Carolina/South Carolina state line. 11 miles (18km) “as the crow flies” from The Bromfield Inn, or 17½m (28km) as the car drives. And I implore you, gentle reader, to check the link out, to get into the mind set Bunny and I were in as we headed out to Pretty Place.

Little did we expect fog. One minute, it was sunny. Then we rounded a bend and:

[Thick fog.  Think pea soup fog.  Visibility measured in yards (meters).] This isn't 7:00am, but 4:00pm, up in the mountains of South Carolina.

The last time I encountered fog this thick it was the late 90s, I was driving along Florida state 60 doing 70mph (110kmh) at 1:30am trying desperately to avoid a semi-truck reenacting “The Duel”. And the time before that I was in elementary school, being driven to Brevard Elementary School by my mom. But this? Today? This took us completely by surprise.

It gave the entire place this ethereal feel to it:

[Trees and fog near the top of a staircase.] You can't see the forest for the fog. [Trees with orange leaves, engulfed in fog.] It's the elves.  It has to be the elves doing this.

And then we entered the chapel and were greeted with:

[The pews, the Cross, and the expansive moutain view swallowed up in white.] I figured there'd be more harp playing than there was.  As it was, it was quiet.  And unearlthly.  Wow!

It was surreal. You look out, and there's nothing but this white void.

[The Cross holding back the white nothingness beyond.] Not much to say, really.

Driving back down, the fog just … vanished … just as quickly as we entered it going up.

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