This morning I woke up early enough to go walking in the fog, my favorite kind of weather. It almost physically draws me out of the house like a huge magnet. I love how vastly mysterious and diffused everything is. There's a country-ish dead end street nearby that I go to which ends with an unassuming church wrapped by a steeply sloped parking lot. A soccer field beyond that, sitting in a bowl of grassy hills, tree topped, and who knows what further on. I walk loops and eights around the parking lot. I mull over life, pray, ponder rhymes or melodies. Mull some more. It's a good place to cry too, which I usually don't around people.
On my last loop this morning I looked over at the soccer field disappearing in the mist like a portal to the hereafter. If Peter Pan faith was all it took, I'd be through it in a moment. But of course it's just an illusion, or perhaps, more hopefully, an allusion.
The mistyness is leaving by the time I reach home again. A bit later this morning I'm outside out again. Now the sun is in full, fall splendor and behold, it's my favorite kind of...grass! Be-sprinkled with dew drops and back lit to diamond glory. Always this reminds me of a C.S. Lewis book describing arrival in Paradise as where "the grass was jewel-bright". I can't even recall which book. The Great Divorce maybe. This sparkling grass, another gift of allusion.
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