Backstory – Out of the Fog
It’s a foggy morning here in the Shenandoah Valley. The vapor moves slowly along, hiding from view, everything over 10 feet away. It’s early morning and very quiet. The silence is not even broken by the buzz of an occasional vehicle on our country road. The driver would hardly be able to see ahead of him. Much safer to wait it out.
What a wonderful time for wondering, day dreaming, allowing random thoughts to flutter across the busy landscapes of my mind and take their own detours, left and right.
I sat here for quite a while, doing just that. Torn between getting the words down on paper – or just letting them trip to and fro, uncaptured, free and easy. Which direction would they take? Would they be philosophical? Romantic? Practical? Far-fetched? I could not tell, before they came tumbling out into my awareness.
Most of the thoughts were quite elusive. I felt naughty, allowing them to swirl around so. I am usually disciplined about getting them down on paper. Even if they are gibberish; viewing them later will take me on a course to creating a Consider This show. But they came and went like dry fallen leaves, on the rush of a nor-easter.
I spent quite a while in this wonderland and must admit I really enjoyed it. It was like a mental roller coaster ride, where you can barely gasp over one breathtaking run before you are headed down the next steep precipice.
It took major concentration to finally come down from this high and reconnect with reality. Once I did, this is the episode written from “Out of the Fog.”
Consider This Show – Out of the Fog
The mountains have disappeared. Often, they simply turn blue with the weather. Today, they are invisible; masked by the early morning fog.
I feel alone in this temporary setting, shielded from anything that is not in my heart and mind this morning. I have the freedom to think any kind of thoughts.
I can worry about the world . . . or think happy thoughts. I can review my responsibilities . . . pay my bills . . . visit FaceBook friends.
Instead, I think I will sit here quietly. Just you and me. I’ll think about how grateful I am that you stop in – some, once in a while, some, every Sunday.
I love to share with you thoughts and stories and laughs. I like to pass along reminders of the good things we have to hold on to. Often reminders about being thankful, and expressing that thanks. Reminders about the love that surrounds you. Maybe a little nudge about reaching out or speaking up – or keeping quiet.
So many thoughts to share . . . So many stories to tell.
Thank you for spending these 90 seconds with me. Even if your day starts with fog, like mine did, may it end, with hope.