Posted on | August 21, 2012 | 1 Comment
“It’s foggy everywhere,” He pointed out the window with his small finger, tracing shapes against the glass. He was right, of course, as the mist lifted off the nearby river and cloaked our town in something sweetly gray and not-quite-sinister.
I’ve tried, on several occasions, to explain fog to J, but he doesn’t quite understand. And how could he? Fog is a hard concept to grasp at not-quite-three. It’s the thickening of the air, the hovering of too low clouds, the silencing of color. It’s as though God grabbed a paintbrush and water-washed the world with shadows, daring us to remember the colors of the day before.
If I’m being honest, though, I love foggy days.
Ever since I moved to Macon, I’ve looked forward to the days when the downtown buildings seemed to hover in mid-air, sliced and softened by the curling mist. I loved the early downtown mornings, walking through the dense Savannah air and feeling the warmth of the air smooth and wet against my cheeks as scene after scene unfolded before me. Foggy days are like being at the theater, watching and waiting for the curtain to rise and gift you with the everyday performance of life.
The world is so different in the fog; it’s hazier and blurred… softened and sweetened in the shush of noiselessness. Everything is quiet, everything is still, everyone is patiently waiting for the moment that the sun breaks through and crumples the silence with brilliant light.
Oh but not me.
I have learned to embrace the fog. I have learned to wrap my arms around the sweet misty mornings when I can sip my coffee from the kitchen table and color with my child, forgetting that it’s almost time to start another work day, forgetting that the day is slowly unfolding even without the sun’s permission. I now embrace the overcast darkness, the whispered “the sun is not up yet” from my sweet son, and the uncloaking of my yard in a slow upward pull of color. It is mornings like today when I remember to pause, to smile, to watch as nature does what she does best… teach and amaze.
Because sometimes it takes a little gray to brighten the yellows, strengthen the greens, and embolden the blues. And I think it takes embracing the gray… in nature and in life… to truly appreciate anything else.