Attempting a definition here is quite a request, but I feel up to it.
The fog sinks into the road as we cross the river. The weather patterns vary on each side of the Columbia. It must be a microclimate effect with the large body of water. It could be raining in Portland and when back in Vancouver all is clear, roads wet with cold steam from the moisture that lingers in the air. Each light takes on its own shimmer of fog, a chill not quite as harsh as rain, but not as crisp as winter. An in-between.
It seems as though I have lived on the in-between my whole life. Nothing is as solid as it would like to think. Ohio being the intersection of two major landscapes, the city of Asheville being the mixing of two socio-economic cultures, Barcelona being a hub for commerce, tourism, and flavorful tastes from all around Spain. Vancouver fits well into these seeming dichotomies, with being the ultimate definition in contrast to the other; the other being the city of Portland.
When discussing the proposed "Columbia River Crossing" project (a new bridge from Portland across the Columbia into Vancouver), there is always contention with the addition of light rail on the bridge. Some slogans in protest to the bridge and the light rail addition called it "the crime train", which would bring in all sorts of crime from Portland. As if Vancouver wasn't without its fair share of crime.
But this brings up the more important point: What if there isn't a "solid state" where something is definite and absolute? Even the weather does change and mix across the river, usually creating a dense fog which envelops everything.
Air stagnation is a new concept for myself as well. That is the effect when air cannot flow because of the two mountain ranges essentially trapping it. It just constantly hits these barriers, and keeps rolling onto itself, eventually slowing down, and loosing the force to exit the valley. As much as this does trap the pollution and particulates in the valley, it does create some great calming situations.
On a dark street at 10 at night, the fog rolls in quite quickly. The motions are amazing, and barely noticeable as you walk down the street. All at once, there is a fog. But this is not the scary ominous fog that creates the dark where bad things lurk. This fog invites you to get wrapped up, to get lost and to show you the very filters from different lights which can't show themselves in clear weather.
As you embrace it, the moisture and ground clouds reveal a mysticism to the everyday objects you walk by on your morning and evening commutes. The light on the porch of the house three blocks down now flickers on as you walk by, and reveals a hazy soft light, much different from the luminescent directness you usually experience. The warm light shows you your path, and brings the individual droplets of water in the air to the forefront of your brain.Those droplets hang stock still, only shifting to the slightest breeze.
The port is much like this from a 50 mile per hour bus crossing the I-5 bridge. It reveals to you the warm structures, like a megalithic alter of modernity which sits off in the distance, inviting you to investigate more. The cranes, booms, and pulleys now obscured by the fog and lamps, into a soft radiant orange, an impressionistic smudge in the now smeared outline of the city.
The people on the bus don't notice this, except for a small woman in a heavy coat laden with bags. We make eye contact for a minute, but she soon gets off the bus in town.
A suburb and city have never seemed to capture my imagination this much before. Perhaps you can come visit, and if we are lucky, there will be some fog late at night.
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