Fog Over Eastern Kentucky

Fog Over Eastern Kentucky Fog hangs like damp gray wool over the waters of the Big Sandy. It kinks and knots along creek beds, into hollows, threading the Blaine and branches of salvation. It blankets valleys, the white gauze sheets of tobacco bases, finally rolling up Irish Creek just beyond my grandmother's porch. The fog yields to the cold iron skillet smell of the air; dank odors of creek, barn, and dog; woodsmoke, coffee. The weather announcer concludes the national report and gives local Iowa conditions. I reach for my coffee cup. It's cold to the touch. -Rachel Matheis 3 ...