October 19, 2009 § 2 Comments
There was fog in the forest this morning. The chilly air lay heavy with moisture, falling along the river and curling around the trees until you could see only their tops, a dull dark green dusting the bottom of the sky. The fog nestled into the trees and seemed content to hover there, still and white. All was quiet and cold, waiting with an air of hushed expectancy more natural to an eager audience. But with no fanfare at all, the sun appeared on the horizon as a a growing gleam of pure light. It rose over the curved edge of the forest in a flood of radiance and warmed the entire fog with its glow. When struck athwart by the glistening rays, the mist shifted and took on a new appearance. It was no longer white and thick; in one instant the fog had softened into airy golden puffs of cloud. This luminous display was highlighted by the leaves of autumn, who reached their graceful hands to brush the spilling banks of light. Burnished orange, glossy red, and vibrant yellow hues painted the underside of the glinting fog, made even richer in color by the dark blurs that were the feathery pines. But not even for the glory of nature will time stand still. The colors melted into the mist, the mist dissolved in the sunlight, and I was left with merely a memory of fog in the forest this morning.