Often when I write or tell a story, I will refer to the mystical, magical mountains. Here they are shrouded in fog. Layers and layers of fog in November. As I write, the tendrils of fog are moving downward. They bring changes with them this day. Transitions in the weather. Green tomatoes abundantly hang on the vine, they are about to be frozen when the temperatures drop to 29. Rumors of snow for the weekend. A day to make muffins and potato soup to warm the body.