Foggy Morning

There is something about fog that I find comforting.  Make no mistake.  I understand how treacherous it can be for sailors and even drivers.  I remember one horrible night when I had to drive back from Mt. Pleasant in a heavy fog.  When I hit the country roads where there were no street lights and no cars to follow, I crept along at five and ten miles per hour, terrified I was going to end up in a ditch or crumpled by a car parked at the side of a road.  I often couldn’t see the road in front of me.

But this morning, I am safely tucked inside my house and waiting for the coffee to steep.  And outside my window a gentle layer of gauze drapes the garden.  Even as I write this, I see the light changing.  It is the sun rising higher and stronger, tearing at that garden gauze and muscling in its insistent warmth.

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