A new day is dawning. The morning is cold and misty. The trail is slick with lingering dampness from rain. No frost, but the winter chill reminds me how quickly conditions could become icy.

My eyes see shades of gray, the camera shows me blue hues. The oaks stand silent on the question of colors.

A mist develops, and begins to thicken and spread. Daybreak arrives with the fog. The day begins here, now. What will I do with it? One thing I won’t do with it is sit here for long minutes reflecting on life and watching the sun rise. First; it’s a foggy gray morning, and there won’t be much to see sunrise-wise. Second; it’s cold! I don’t prefer it for lingering outside, still and quiet. I’m already feeling the cold in my hands and in my bones. It’s a good morning to keep moving.

…I do like the walk through the fog, though. It brings mystery to the mundane and wonder to the familiar.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I stand and stretch. It’s as good a time as any to begin again. I look down the path into the fog. Where does this path lead? I’ll know when I get there, I suppose. The clock is ticking.