Morning Fog and Trees

Before dawn, fog moves up from the river and drifts through the forest, filling the woods behind my house. It’s a bit gloomy, but also mysterious. Yesterday we had sunshine, and the brightness brought a surge of energy. Today, not so much. I want to put on a sweater, sit in a soft chair by the window, drink hot tea, and remember how life used to be.

            This happens after you’ve battled grief, even if you’re years down the road and have moved on with your life. Some days you wonder about the what ifs. You want to think about how you’ve changed, and what you’ve learned from grief’s unwanted journey.

            As the sun rises, it illuminates the white particles of mist that float and turn on the whims of the breeze. At first glance, I thought it was fine snow drifting down.

            Then I see it.

            The three closest trees are in sharp focus, like a black and white Ansel Adams’ photograph. I can see the different patterns of the bark in the maple, oak, and walnut, how one tree bends slightly to the left before straightening, and the tree with a large branch that broke off during the ice storm last winter. Why did I not notice these details before the fog isolated them? Normally I see hundreds of trees and a quarter mile of woods behind my house. Now I can see only the three trees and twenty feet. The rest of the forest has disappeared in the fog.

            The three trees are stately and stand silently like serene sentinels protecting the woods. Like Don Quixote, Sancho Panza and Rosinante battling injustice. Or Dr. Who, Amy, and Rory unveiling illusions we use to keep ourselves blind and happy.

            Sometimes I need a fogged-in day to see what is standing in front of me.

            All of this tree talk doesn’t mean anything. What I want to say is that everyday I want to notice what is going on around me. I don’t want to rush out the door with my day planner in hand and see nothing but the meetings that are scheduled. I want to experience something each day that is utterly real, a moment that gives me a taste of the transcendent, or brings an insight, a glimpse into someone’s heart. I want to be surprised.

I want to feel compassion for those I meet who are suffering. I want to listen to the spaces between their words hear the unspoken.

            If the fog had not slowed me down, I would not have seen the trees, the dancing of the fog, or the next person I see on the street. I wouldn’t have said hello and changed the emotion of the day for both of us.