Foggy Night

It's finally getting cold.  I had forgotten exactly how cold my apartment can get, and it's still not even that cold; plus, I live in an area where I'm almost certain we cannot technically count our winters as such.  Yet, I am much like a chihuahua, tiny and lacking insulation.  The result is experiencing seizure-like shivers during the mere two degree temperature drop from being curled up on the couch, to venturing forth into the kitchen.

Now, you may be wondering where I'm going with this, but don't worry, I am too... 

These pictures are from January, on a very cold and foggy night that I, despite lacking natural insulation and temperature adjustment, am so very excited to see again.  The street lights had cut through the dense fog and flooded the neighborhood with an orange glow in which the dark silhouettes of trees, cars, and street signs warily crept.  I remember nervously standing in the silence that seemed to shatter with every click, every adjustment of my camera, and just waiting for someone - or something - to reveal themselves through the thick mist wielding some sort of bludgeoning device, as if that was the only possible conclusion to a night like this.

The more I review these images, the more I realize I only like them because of the memory they provoke - the black and orange silence of a wintery street I was sure to die on, curb-stomped by a fog-monster.  Whether these images can invoke the same feeling I had is highly unlikely, nevertheless, I wanted to share them, and the memory linked to them, as I sit curled up in a blanket, unable to feel my fingers tapping on the keyboard.