Fog in dreams

I love a foggy morning. Growing up in Miami, there was little fog. Living so close to the ocean and at the tip of a peninsula, fog rarely occurred. But now, living in the palm* of the state, fog happens frequently and especially on the morning that cannot decide if it’s summer or fall. There is a silence in the fog, a muting of the noise of the day. Fog burns off quickly though and the noise of the day returns. On a Monday morning, when fog blankets everything, the notion of staying in bed is enticing. The dream of a one-day deep back porch facing the rising sun on which I can sit wrapped in a quilt fills my senses. Thick socks on my perpetually cold feet, a warm mug of coffee in my hands watching the dawn peek up and listening to the birds wake. The first rays of the sun cause the dew on the overnight spider webs to glisten like gem encrusted lace. And slowly the fog thins, revealing the black railed fence in the distance and the far tree line. A new day has begun.


*I say I live in the palm of Florida because I think of Florida like an upside down right hand with the thumb straight out. The thumb is the panhandle and I live right in the center of the palm. I stole this idea from my Michigan friends who always reference the mitten that is their state [Note: MITTEN = Michigan]


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