The Thing About Fog
The fog came rolling in last night.
By morning, it had settled over the city. You couldn't see much out the window except for building outlines and lamp light.
I put on a rain coat and boots, opened the door, stepped into the cloudy, wet air.
And there's something funny about fog: to see through it, you have to get out into it.
I could stare out the window all I wanted, but the visibility wouldn't change a bit. It was only when I stepped directly into the thick mist that things began to take shape and some sense of the path ahead began to emerge.
There is some fog that's thick as pea soup. But most fog, maybe 90% of it, is murky from a distance, but clearer up close.
So as I walked through it. As the trees, parked cars, early morning dog walkers, road ahead took shape. It occurred to me that often walking into the unclear and unknown is the first step towards clarity.
The Lightning Notes is funded by kind donors. If something here strikes you, I'd be grateful if you'd consider donating. Click to Donate!