Fog

            I cherish a foggy morning. After these glorious days of bright sun and dry air, the fog’s cool embrace offers welcome respite – mystery, solitude, escape from view. It’s a changed world, cool, yet still comfortable in shirtsleeves, quiet, muffled by surrounding clouds of minute droplets. Cereal boxes and the pages of books squish submissively under the fingers, softened by the damp air. Spider tents linger longer into the dimness of day, glistening with beads of moisture. Tall grasses wash the feet and legs. Thirsty skin drinks in the mist-laden atmosphere, a spa treatment after all that burn of sunshine.
            I wouldn’t want to be trapped here forever, but it’s a nice place to hide for a while.
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 342: 151 words, TOTAL = 56,386; 3,614 remaining