Pulled up the blind this morning to fog in the backyards. That rarely happens, so rarely that at first I was afraid it was smoke. But no smell and no sirens, so I made my tea and took it through a fog bank down to the river. This was a thinner fog, but more pervasive than the one I wrote about the other day. The buildings on the blocks east of me were no sharper than the pilings in the water. For all I know, at this narrow end of the island, Manhattan was engulfed from river to river.
When I got to the park I saw two mallards napping on the pilings while a pair of Gadwalls nibbled at barnacles. Gulls, for some reason, find it interesting to fly in fog. Usually they sit on the water or the pilings unless something is happening, but when it’s foggy they all get up and fly around. Atmospheric for those of us in the park when they suddenly wheel out of the white nothingness, but I don’t suppose that’s why they do it. As I was leaving I ran into Urban Naturalist, who, having conquered bugs, birds, and trees, has now developed a fascination with lichens and fungi. He showed me a couple, including the smallest mushroom in North America.
By the way, Urban Naturalist and Keith Michael, who in real life is a dance guy but also is a big ol’ birder and a helluva photographer, lead nature walks in Hudson River Park in all seasons except this one. They’re generally on Sundays, so I can’t usually go because of basketball, but I’ll keep you guys informed so you can come on down.