Morning Meditation, November 23

Cradled in the belly of the beech Sisters, I find myself swaddled in fog. My cloak surrounds me, and my hood covers my face. It is extremely comfortable in this, my secret place. This morning's meditation is one of listening, to drops falling from leaves and the rustling steps of unseen animals. Even though the fog heralds a shift towards more typical November weather, I am warm in my layers of clothes, fuzzy bathrobe, and woolen cloak. I breathe slowly, experiencing each inhalation as one of safety and coziness. With each exhale, I assert myself as a participant in this world of blue haze and ambivalent shapes. Eventually, I move and lift back my hood to look upon the foggy forest. It is time to go back home, where the sleepy loved ones are waiting for me.