Through the Fog
Time is a funny thing - the way it it rushes by in a blink when we most wish it would slow. And the way it crawls when you're waiting to move on to the next thing. I've been working through a bit of both lately, seesawing back and forth as the days pass. Can you believe this Friday is the autumnal equinox? I wonder, how did we arrive at this liminal tipping point so quickly? And simultaneously, why did it take so long to reach the twilight of the season?
The mornings have been pretty dark lately, though I know they are only the beginning of what's to come. It's a combination of later and later sunrises and the fog that has once again decided to grace us with its presence. The lack of light and cool temperatures make for good sleeping, the kind where you pile on an extra blanket and snuggle in like some small animal in a winter den. But it sure makes getting up tough.
Yesterday, we awoke (late) to a fog so thick that the not-so-distant trees were just shadows seen through the heavy air. Oatmeal was eaten, laces tied, and we headed off to the hills. I spend a lot of time wishing we were able to spend more time walking together like this, out of town with only birdsong in our ears, but it has only recently occurred to me that wishing won't get me there.
The stillness beneath the oaks, dew drops strung like glistening crystal quartz along a strand of spider silk...I am constantly left in awe by the things nature creates without even trying. This is effortless beauty, fragile and mighty all at once. Far more detailed than my hands can replicate and always in the act of disappearing, returning to nothing, only to begin again.
I had to capture a few pictures of us as well to remind me that we aren't just drifting, like clouds untethered. Here is the land. The sky. And us in the middle.
