I went on a long walk tonight, after taking the bus to downtown then crossing the Steel Bridge to the Eastbank Esplanade, and as I headed south towards home I watched fog insinuate itself over the West Hills across the river. By the time I got to my neighborhood, fog had reached it too. But as I see it, it doesn't "roll." Maybe it looks like it does in time-lapse photography, but not quite, not even then.
Maybe it's more like a dry ooze. It spreads, it touches, it seems to absorb; maybe it grows, and maybe it thickens. That depends. It's a translucent, near-transparent blanket. Maybe. And it does seem dry, until it reaches you, and the air's moisture goes up a touch.
But none of that, to me, implies "rolling in."
But this is English, the language where noses run and feet smell. It doesn't always make sense. And we know what it means, even though it doesn't really say what it means.
The fog has grown back. We've had plenty of fog the past couple of days. But as long as there's nothing in the mist (certainly nothing that took John Lee), I'll let it slide. Hmm. Maybe fog slides...