Misty Morning

Like silent sentinels shrouded in mist, the trees in my neighborhood fade into the distance as the sun rises every fall and spring.

The world takes on an ethereal quality and a hush falls upon us all.

I couldn't resist the call to walk in the early morning light and set out with my daughter and our dog to greet the morning.

New vistas emerge slowly as we make our way down the street, past silent houses, breathing in the crisp, clean air.

It's like looking at the world in a whole new way, lined up in layers, each less distinct than the last.


Until the horizon is engulfed in misty whiteness.

The mist brings a hint of mystery that makes an otherwise ordinary lane hold promise and intrigue.

Where does it go? What will I find?

Does it really matter when the scenery is this enchanting?

As we make our way back home the sun is beginning to burn away the veil of whiteness. . .

But I can't help but notice the way it frames the houses so beautifully. . .

And adds a dreamy quality to a rail fence.

Then I round the corner and my house emerges from the fog and greets me, welcomes me home, beckoning like a safe harbor in the sea of a misty morning.

I can't help but sigh. I love this little corner of the world I call home.