It’s as thick as pea soup this morning. My daughter and I walked to school and it was like being wrapped in cotton – sound muffled, cars nearly invisible except for their lights, the roofs of houses trunciated, only the tree trunks in sight – their branches lost in the mist. I like fog.

The first time the twins saw it, they were four. They stepped out the front door, stopped on the top step, and frantically started to rub their faces. They thought the problem was with their eyes! They misheard me, and called it ‘Frog’ for the longest time. “Mommy, it’s frog out!” they would shout. We’d just moved from sunny Florida (where I’ve yet to see fog) to France in the wintertime. Fog wrapped the world in a white cloak, and my sons put their arms out in front of them when they walked.

I look out the window, past the sheer white curtains, and see just the judas tree out front. All the other trees are invisible behind a wall of mist.

Keep your fingers crossed for me! I just recieved a request for a full from a literary agent. I will type up the cover letter this morning and send it to Ann, who has generously offered to print up my mammoth manuscript and send it off. (I really owe her one!! Thanks Ann!!) From France, postage is terribly high, and a thick sheef of paper weighs quite a lot.

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