At the last second, I veer off the road, lured by the fog hovering over Blanco River. I take off on foot, totally unprepared with my flimsy sandals and bare toes. (These fleeting moments are almost always worth the effort.) I am convinced that stories lurk in the fog, and like many nature writers before me have experienced, wandering often leads to discovery.

Textures and shapes stand out against the muted background of a March morning. I think of Winter Storm Uri, an event that shocked us all last month with ice, snow, and freezing temperatures that lasted for many days. Since then, I have been holding my breath, waiting for the bluebonnets to emerge, watching the ruby-throated hummingbirds and enormous bumblebees search for nectar.

The fog has stories to share here in the Hill Country. Like a mysterious character from a novel, the fog enters a scene and transforms my sense of place, alters my perspective ever so slightly. In the winter and early spring, fog is a frequent visitor. When it appears, I set out to capture it with my camera or sit down with pen and paper. The rest of the day can wait.

This morning along Purgatory Road, a place whose name alone captures my imagination, the fog cast a ghostly aura over the landscape. Leafless trees, like skeletons, jumped into focus around every bend. Vultures descended on the roadside to investigate a deer carcass. A fox darted in front of the car, causing my heart to race.