When I left home Saturday morning for assignments in Georgetown and Walburg, the fog was making its presence known in a big way. My normal route west was a good bit slower as a result. Seeing ten yards in front of my hood was a task. But as I passed over the San Gabriel River, the sight of a fly fisherman squarely in its mist sure got my notice. With a few minutes to spare before the first assignment, I pulled over and did a little bit of climbing to address the scene and get that all-important context. Fog, even when it’s presented in color, like these images, reveals its ability to simplify a photograph, much like black and white. While I’ve never tried fly-fishing, everyone I’ve ever seen practicing this art seems to be getting a taste of serenity whether or not they get a nibble. It’s the being-there part they love. It’s a calming therapy, or, as I like to claim, a meditation. A few are offered for your viewing.