A misty day on a river is one of my favorite things. Whether it’s the mist dancers of late Winter or the heavier fogs of late Summer, I love to see it. And ooh, in the summer I love to swim in it… I find it incredibly beautiful.
The mist obscures things, it’s true. And we have to be patient, waiting for the real picture to be revealed.
And people use the mist to cover up their actions. And somehow we have to work through that.
It all takes patience. Peace takes patience. Justice takes patience. I guess the patience is the growing up part of learning to see what’s really there. And in the meantime? Enjoy the beauty.
August is such a push-pull month. It’s hot and it’s sticky. Stack that up against corn on the cob — I’ll take it.
It’s dramatic. Thunder storms, flooding rains, roaring winds and then stagnant humidity. Nothing to do but sit in front of the fan and drip. It’s annoying for everyone, but can be its own little hell for menopausal women who are dripping anyway!
But then there are these quiet, lovely, misty mornings. The mist gathers on fields and it gathers on bodies of water. And it is beautiful and peaceful and calm. There is nothing more delightful… hmm… checking for hyperbole… nah, maybe equally delightful, but not more so!… than slipping into a lake or a pond and swimming into the mist.
For me, this is a place I meet Peace. I don’t indulge that often enough. Where do you meet it? And do you go there often enough? Do we ever? Take these caresses of Peace where they’re offered…