It is a season of change: crisp, cool mornings; cars covered in dew; evenings demand a light blanket; phantom-like mists wind around forest trees and hover over meadows; the harvest is abundant with apples and pumpkins. These are the signposts: our landscape and mountaintops will soon be draped in blazing color and frosty nights.
Following an early morning ritual of reading (currently it is Dickens’s Pickwick Papers), writing, and consuming a good quantity of freshly brewed Scottish Breakfast tea, I embarked on my daily walk at about seven o’clock. My path took me through the charming, historic streets of the Village of Athens. My plan: complete the last quarter mile at the Riverfront.
Once there, I was stunned. The River, and the River only, was enveloped in a fog so thick it blocked out the sun’s warmth I felt just moments before. I thought I was living in Maine again; or, I had unwillingly been transported into a Stephen King novel to be terrorized by some horrific clown event that could only emerge from King’s mischievous yet fiendish imagination. (I’m a fan of both the man and his writing.)
There was no terror; only fog and the mystery it conjures. Standing there wrapped in mist, I thought of questions I’ve asked myself for months, maybe a year now, common to many of us at one point or another in our lives: who am I; what do I really do and why do I do it; what have I contributed to the world in my seventy-one years; have I made a difference for betterment in some small way?
I’ve been haunted by a passage in Isak Dinesen’s, “Out of Africa:” Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me? An eloquent way of asking: Will I be remembered?
Neither fog, nor River, provided answers; I didn’t expect them to. Questions with no answers are what Age carries in her satchel as she dispenses dichotomies of joys and sorrows; glory and humiliation; wisdom and wandering, lost minds.
This one morning, though, presented a Divine Intervention for me as I studied the breathtaking sight: the struggle between the fog’s determination to shroud the River; the sun’s inevitable supremacy, which would erase the fog.
I love these images. I hope you do too.
I completed my photo shoot and walk. I felt alive. I felt whole. Equanimity was mine; though, for too brief a time. I often abandon that which feeds my soul in the name of busyness, meaningless gossip, superficial activities, and the need to put food on the table. The latter, a reality. The fog eventually evaporated; so did the feeling of serenity.
Impermanence is the Law of the Universe. So be it.
The Book Of Abbey
Abbey is well, thriving, and more accepting of cuddling. She loves a new game I created called belly-blow-kisses. She rolls and wiggles and, dare I say, looks like she’s laughing. This image, though not of her laughing, was taken during an iPhone experiment. I like it. I used the Noir filter. It was fun to do.
More To Come
In a few weeks, I will be writing about a life-changing experience for eight courageous people and me. Look for Mockingbird in the title!
I’ve said enough.
Thank you for your willingness to take this virtual tour with me …
One Morning in the Fog.