Foggy Mornings

Foggy mornings are meant for taking walks; 

for thankfulness and prayers;

for being literally and figuratively mystified; 

for enduring the cold to see things that sleeping souls are unaware of; 

for letting the visual warmth of turning leaves warm you instead; 

for taking the time to spot the abundance of dew-covered webs of intricate lace that Charlotte and her kin were hard at work spinning the night before; 

for inhaling constantly changing scents that you most likely have never encountered before; 

for coming home feeling refreshed, and your cheeks a bit more flushed than when you walked out the door.

The Early Bird

The early bird? Yeah, it totally gets the worm! Work at 11 and no personal time within sight? No problem! The alarm went off at 7:30 AM and I was up and at em'. An hour and a half later I had walked over six miles. Following my heart, I weaved my way up and down tree-lined streets, past early and mid century homes, and beautifully yet organically landscaped front yards. It was everything I needed. The sun was glittering on Lake Washington as yachts bobbed at the dock and single sculls cut through placid water. An early autumn crisp was undoubtedly in the air. There were houses covered in vines, and an abundance of apple and pear trees signaling the approach of fall. Sunday morning French press wafted through open windows. I took delight in greeting walkers and garden dwellers with a "good morning". One little curly-haired, bouncing bundle of joy proceeded to repeatedly greet me at high decibels with "Hi neighbor!" as I continued to walk down her block. She even went so far as to drag her seemingly amused father out from inside the house and onto the porch to greet "neighbor" too. The entire walk was set to the tune of "The Trolley Song" from Meet Me In St. Louis as I repeatedly sang along with Judy Garland in my head. My heartstrings are zinging and thumping in anticipation for the coming season.