Of Birds and Fog

The strangest thing happens on really foggy mornings.

First, I suddenly think it's ok to let my little girl dig in the dirt in her pj's and bare feet even though I know she's got to be freezing.


And second, all of these birds gather in the tree across the street and hang out until the fog starts to
lift.


There's always one or two big ones, and a bunch of little ones.



It's like a regular convention for them. Or maybe it's like some kind of birdy hydrating spa treatment or something. All I know is, the birds dig the fog, and the old dead tree.