Have you ever read the opening paragraphs of Charles Dickens' Bleak House? Though, the London fog he describes is toxic, the way he describes it is elegant. I think of his descriptions just about every time it's foggy. "Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats ..." more I pulled Bleak House from the shelf yesterday, because I gravitate toward stories in which the settings are gray, inclement or snowy whenever it's chilly and wet (and yesterday was both, much to my delight). Last year I was reading some excerpts from Wuthering Heights, and a friend remarked that she couldn't get through it because it was depressing. I couldn't disagree more, though I can't really nail down a reason why. The photo above hangs in our bedroom, and it's my favorite of Paris in the fog. I've yet to see London in the fog, but it's on my list.