The fog, sunny white in the
sunshine, was pouring over into Lake County in a huge, ragged
cataract, tossing treetops appearing and disappearing in the spray.
The air struck with a little chill, and set me coughing. It smelt
strong of the fog, like the smell of a washing-house, but with a
shrewd tang of the sea salt.
Had it not been for two things--the sheltering spur which answered
as a dyke, and the great valley on the other side which rapidly
engulfed whatever mounted--our own little platform in the canyon
must have been already buried a hundred feet in salt and poisonous
air. As it was, the interest of the scene entirely occupied our
minds. We were set just out of the wind, and but just above the
fog; we could listen to the voice of the one as to music on the
stage; we could plunge our eyes down into the other, as into some
flowing stream from over the parapet of a bridge; thus we looked on
upon a strange, impetuous, silent, shifting exhibition of the
powers of nature, and saw the familiar landscape changing from
moment to moment like figures in a dream.
The imagination loves to trifle with what is not. Had this been
indeed the deluge, I should have felt more strongly, but the
emotion would have been similar in kind. I played with the idea,
as the child flees in delighted terror from the creations of his
fancy.
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