Written the morning of March 20, 2022. My world was draped in heavy fog.
I sat on my couch, journal in hand, sipping coffee, my grandmother’s quilt draped across my legs.
My heart leapt with joy to see my son stumble out into the kitchen and watch his sleepy eyes brighten with sheer awe and amazement as he looked out the window.
As a little girl, I used to LOVE foggy days.
I thought they were incredibly magical. They brought me wonder and delight.
There is something mystical and mysterious about fog. It always transported me to imaginary, mossy gardens and distant, rocky seashores of faraway places. For me, there is always a sense of peace and calm on foggy days. There is always stillness.
When my children were young, I remember a particularly foggy morning. I quickly bundled them up to run across the street to the park to laugh and play in the fog before it dissipated. It felt amazing to lose sight of that which is so close. Our house, the trees, each other, and even our hands. To know we are so close to what is familiar, but simply unable to see it.
On these dreamy, magical foggy days, I can see just enough to recognize only that which is very near to me. But it fills me with eagerness and curiosity to discover what is just beyond. What will I encounter? What is there? What magic is to be discovered? It is all such a thrilling adventure.
My foggy morning caused me to pause and consider…
How can I embrace the fog in other areas of my life?
Why do I pursue clarity of vision and certainty?
Why do I long for answers and a clear path ahead?
How can I simply enjoy the magic of witnessing reality unfold before me?
How can I trust my inner knowing of what is near and just beyond, instead of relying on external confirmation?
How can I live in eager curiosity about that which is unseen?
I love bright sun and clear blue skies. But I will always relish these foggy days…to remember to laugh and dance and delight and explore in magical wonder.