Musing in the Mist
Early morning – well, at least it is after midnight. I get up, pull on a jacket, scuff my feet into slippers. I make a cup of tea. The steam tickles my face as I take the first sip. Gazing out the back door, I am entranced by the serenity of the lake in the moonlight. I turn the key gently until the quiet click lets me know that I can open the door, and I step outside into the peacefulness. I shiver in the chilly night air. I pull my jacket tighter around my body, crisscrossing it over me in a hug. I realize I’m grateful to feel the coolness, I’m grateful to feel the warmth and security of my jacket, I’m grateful to feel. A car slows, I hear a gentle slap as the newspaper hits the pavement. I look at the clock, it’s 3:35. Right on time. I walk out in the darkness, barely able to see the packet lying on the driveway. Picking it up, I go back to the deck. I place the paper on the table; I’ll read it, later. Every porch needs a rocking chair. I settle