This beautiful photo by Patti Ives reminds me of the poem by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967). The first two lines of the poem say:
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
There is something wonderful about fog. The most fantastic fog is that which I saw in New Brunswick as we traveled the highway in the early dawn hours, the only car on the road, and the only visible life, a large crow, cawing, and flying between the tall fir trees that were saluting the dawn.
We often speak of fog metaphorically. If we say that someone is in a fog, it means that the person is not fully cognizant of his actions, and is perhaps executing them in a perfunctory way, not engaging in the moment, just “going through the motions.”
When we say that someone has come out the fog, the statement could mean that he or she is seeing things more clearly. In religious circles, we speak of seeing God through a looking glass, in other words, we are the mirror image of the Creator, but the Bible tells us that “then,” meaning in the hereafter, we shall see Him face to face.
None of us can see ourselves too clearly, can we? We cannot even decipher our own reasons and our own emotions. We keep asking, “What does it all mean? Why am I here?” Certainly, there is a reason for our sustained presence, and if we are still above ground, there is always some potential that we can do some good for someone else.
I love fog, particularly when I see it lifting off the mountains, revealing them clearly. I like to see sun through the fog, the hope of a sunny day. We must, however, live right now. Whether the fog is real and visible, or is existent only in the foggy-brains of ourselves or others, we must live with it until it passes. The joy of life is that there is always a new day dawning.
Patricia Cummings
