An early morning in the high pass between the Providence and New York mountain ranges is a good place to watch for fog.  Not fog as how we think of fog in a normal sense, but fog as when clouds roll over this pass. Bitter and brutally cold in the winter, strafing the ground with a crust of frost the clouds lay down and pick up as fast as they leave. Of course the wind moves it all, and not a gentle wind either.  This is a wind so icy it twists one’s soul as it blows through.  It is all worth it though–a different kind of solitude–you were the only one to see it and feel it.