Misty Mysterious

I woke at 4:30 AM this morning, and by 5:00 I accepted that I wasn’t going to fall back asleep. My attempt at noiseless dressing unslumbered my bride briefly, but she mumbled back into hibernation as Carley and I pulled the bedroom door shut and headed down to breakfast. But, first things first. We headed outside for her morning constitutional, and it was then — upon exiting the mudroom and stepping into the deck — that my misty mysterious morning began.

That is what I saw. Enrapturing mist, at once spotlighting the tree flanked barns and muting almost everything else.

Softly at first, then more audibly, I heard the “singing underneath”.

Moody… Warm light, gently filtered. Colors few, but saturation intense. And mist. Ground-clinging, gossamer haze blurring the ground-to-trees transition. Mysterious. Mesmerizing. Beyond beautiful. (Source: Misty Sundown)

A morning message, mysterious but timely. Sometimes, you see, the universe rhymes.

The brouillard rolled in thick as whipped cream on a strawberry shortcake. (Source: Misty Mellowing)

As Carley circled and took care of business, I tilted my head upward and tried to absorb it all, the mysterious message like a mirage.

Minutes like these bend time. Blur boundaries. Blend sensations with memories and daydreams. Minutes like these — suspended between trees, between daytime and nighttime, between lived fact and read fiction, between vacation and school, vacation and work — invite wondering and wandering. Court questions more than answers. Remind us to linger a little longer, to let go, to yield. (Source: Mist Mingling Prose)

I lingered. I let go. I yielded to the mystery of the early morning mist.

Morning Mist

The blurry brume clings
to meadows beyond the barns. 
Leggy asters, wild parsnip,
vetch, and tasseled grass,
all swaddled, mirage-like
in fuzzy-muzzy vapors.
(Source: Misty Morning)

And for a few minutes, maybe longer, with Carley now at my side, looking at me looking at the barns — the carriage barn on the left and icehouse on the right — like some sort of apparition, like some sort of memory barely discernible from the blur beyond, I experienced a glimmer of recognition, of familiarity, of confidence, of conviction. And I chuckled.

Perhaps, soon,… the mist will melt away. And then, given a little perspective, I just might find the missing pieces. (Source: Misty Morning)

But first I row my dory out into the middle of Lake Champlain to watch the sun sear through the mysterious mist, rowing toward clarity, dorying toward mist-free confidence and conviction.