Fog

At this time of year, my morning walk around Peters Hill starts and finishes in the dark of imminent sunrise. I treasure the dark, the quiet, the sense of aloneness of this time, especially as it contrasts with days of connection with light, sound, people.

This morning I left a bit later than I usually do. The mist was thick and because it was later and therefor lighter, I was able to almost see my surroundings. Having acclimated to walking the dark, I was a bit startled to be able to see my surrounding. What a surprising blessing of color and texture that I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

And the mist, oh, the mist! It made everything soft and quiet in a way that seemed perfect for that moment. The hawthorns, already robust with branches, seemed virtually impenetrable as the sun rose unseen.

There is much of metaphor here, for me and perhaps for you. I’ll leave it a bit more visual than verbal and we can each make of it what we will.