Morning Fog

Fog fills the woods behind the house this morning, and it’s a bit gloomy. Yesterday we had sunshine and the early morning brightness brought energy and determination to get work done. As dawn rises, the grayness of the particles of fog changes to white, as if a fine snow is coming down. Then I noticed it. I could see the closest trees clearly. The further the trees were away, the thicker the veil that covered them, and I could see only one-hundred feet into the woods instead of a thousand. Yesterday all the trees in the woods were visible and none stood out. Today only a dozen trees are clear and I see each in an individual way, the patterns in each of their dark brown trunks, the way one tree bends slightly to the right before straightening, and the tree with broken branches from the ice storm last month.

Sometimes I need my day fogged in so that I notice what is around me. Otherwise I see everything, but in a blur and nothing specifically. It’s the difference between being at a party and talking to everyone, and sitting at a table with one person, looking at her eyes and seeing history that is not being spoken. It’s a sharing not just of words but of what we haven’t yet been able to put into words. It’s a relationship that deepens as we decipher each other’s faces.

We think that we want to experience and know everything, as if this knowledge will bring us happiness. What we really want is to experience something real each day. And we won’t do this until we notice what is standing in front of us.