Moon Fog

Magical morning filled with tendrils of fog wisping across grassy green meadows, bits of moonlight filtering down from a disappearing not-quite-full moon and sifting across the landscape. Sugar snorted her way across the yard, whimpering and rolling in the clutter of yellow leaves laid neatly beneath trees like so many petticoats delicately unstrung and dropped neatly around the ankles.

On the far side of the clearing, a young deer ambled slowly toward the road, unconcerned with dog or human or car. At the edge of the road, it stood still, lazily glancing to the right, pausing, looking left before tiptoeing across the wet black pavement and disappearing into the woods beyond haughtily indignant at her morning ablutions being interrupted by rude staring.

The air is so ethereal I half expect angels to descend and stir the swirling fog, turning white into glitter and brilliance. I step gingerly along the sidewalk, half holding my breath for fear I will break the spell. Sugar and I are alone in the white mist, our faces washed clean of dreariness, the sole sound a jingling of Sugar's dog tags.

Halfway home, two squirrels race around the craggy trunk of an ancient pine, scolding Sugar for intruding on their morning food gathering, their raid on the bird feeder, an exercise in acrobatics well developed to produce plentiful seed and nuts. We hurry past, Sugar growling low in her throat, swallowing before it escaped into sound.

I shiver with excitement. Surely something wonderful will happen on such a morning as this. I cannot wait to dip into the day and see what awaits. Bountiful blessings will pour, I am convinced. How enchanting.