River of Fog
Half-awake at 3AM I wandered the banks of the Tongue River in southern Montana. Fog drifted across the water like it was alive, slowing down, speeding up, and stopping. Every tree and bush shifted to an unfamiliar shape. Each breath I took added to the moisture in the air. All evening long the 75% moon hid the secrets of the night sky. Faint colors and dim stars were all drowned out by the bright, inescapable light source. But when the moon set and the fog appeared, it was a different world. The aurora glowed gently to the north while stars I haven’t seen in half a year rose to the east.