Fog has always seemed magical to me.
When I was in elementary school, I remember specifically one day it was so foggy-we lived a few blocks up the hill from the Columbia River in Vancouver Washington, that I couldn't see the neighboring houses.
As I walked to school alone-it was safe to do that back then, I pretended the fog was opening and closing its doors for me, which was why I couldn't see any of our neighbors.
Today, I still think fog is magical. The softness and stillness it lends to the landscape is mesmerizing. Light is diffused in such a way that even an unattractive view might be redeemed, if only for a short while; colors are softened so that the harshness of reality melts into some kind of otherworldly feature; even the sun takes on an ethereal glow that makes its unabashed glory hard to put out of your mind. Winding roads take on a bit of mystery; brazen becomes tolerable; mountains and hillocks become monuments to behold. The ostentatious has been put in its place temporarily, the world has slowed, the pace has slackened. Our eyes take on a new responsibility, one of inquisitor, asking what Heavenly Father has given us today.
I know it can be annoying, especially when you are in a hurry, but next time you are confronted with a foggy day, look around.
Take notice of the things the Lord is pointing out to you, you may be surprised that the mountains you’ve been taking for granted every day have actually become four separate hills that comprise the whole. You may notice that the stream you pass regularly has become a mysterious pathway, beckoning you to join it on its journey.
I cherish the fog as it brings new views to my mind and heart, challenging me to use all my senses in discovering the world in its present form.
It confirms to me that magic still exists in my adult world.
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