Foggy mornings
I love foggy mornings.
The dampness of the air, the slight chill in the temperature.....the cars with headlights on, drivers leaning forward as if that would help clear the air before them. The birds remain hushed, almost as if they don't dare disturb the calm that surrounds them. Sounds seem more muffled, and colors appear more subdued....all except for the greens, which look more vivid and lush in the whitish-colored daylight.
I remember foggy mornings as a child. They remind me of early September mornings, school mornings. I remember waking up as a child, looking out over the pasture behind our house, seeing foggy blankets covering all of the cows so only their legs peeked out. I remember climbing onto my school bus, the damp, mildew-like fragrance filling my nostrils as I stumbled back to find a seat as the driver took off. I noticed the condensation on all of the horizontal bus windows, some with messages written on them by tiny fingers.
I remember the foggy morning at Fort Polk when I arose at 5am with Mom to drive over and see Dad, along with his battalion, take off on his relay race to Texas. I remember the foggy mornings of field day....where goosebumps were only to be replaced with sweat as the afternoon approached and heated everything and everybody up.
I just love fog. It is like a hushed awakening to some of our days....it is a plea to "be still, be quiet, tread lighty sometimes." When we are tearing off to work, school, or other places, fog forces us to slow down.....to watch the road more carefully.....to reach over and turn up our stereo a little louder. It is going to take us longer to get there, so might as well enjoy the ride, we say. Fog is the yellow light on the road of life.
I cannot merely simplify fog into a random scientific weather occurrence. It, to me, is so much more.
The dampness of the air, the slight chill in the temperature.....the cars with headlights on, drivers leaning forward as if that would help clear the air before them. The birds remain hushed, almost as if they don't dare disturb the calm that surrounds them. Sounds seem more muffled, and colors appear more subdued....all except for the greens, which look more vivid and lush in the whitish-colored daylight.
I remember foggy mornings as a child. They remind me of early September mornings, school mornings. I remember waking up as a child, looking out over the pasture behind our house, seeing foggy blankets covering all of the cows so only their legs peeked out. I remember climbing onto my school bus, the damp, mildew-like fragrance filling my nostrils as I stumbled back to find a seat as the driver took off. I noticed the condensation on all of the horizontal bus windows, some with messages written on them by tiny fingers.
I remember the foggy morning at Fort Polk when I arose at 5am with Mom to drive over and see Dad, along with his battalion, take off on his relay race to Texas. I remember the foggy mornings of field day....where goosebumps were only to be replaced with sweat as the afternoon approached and heated everything and everybody up.
I just love fog. It is like a hushed awakening to some of our days....it is a plea to "be still, be quiet, tread lighty sometimes." When we are tearing off to work, school, or other places, fog forces us to slow down.....to watch the road more carefully.....to reach over and turn up our stereo a little louder. It is going to take us longer to get there, so might as well enjoy the ride, we say. Fog is the yellow light on the road of life.
I cannot merely simplify fog into a random scientific weather occurrence. It, to me, is so much more.
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