Misty Moisty Morning

Snow on the ground.
Rain comes down.
Fog rises.
Misty, moisty morning with steam in the air.

Squirrelboy and Faerygirl squelched through the slush on this mysterious, creepy morning. Faerygirl remembered a Stephen King story she'd read about an evil fog. I forbade her to speak of it, since it was truly dark and foggy, and I could imagine my own shadowy horrors lurking in the mist. At one point, I saw electric blue sparks somewhere in the woods (could it have been static electricity from the hair falling over my eyes?). Instead, I recalled a charming story I'd read as a girl about a village that only appeared in the fog. Faerygirl thought that was a nice idea. Squirrelboy enjoyed kicking the slush, and Faerygirl remembered how she used to enjoy doing the same. Too soon, the bus loomed up out of the fog, blinking and twinkling its safety lights, to take my daughter away. Squirrelboy's mitten found my hand and we went to fill the woodburner for the day's heat.

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.