In the Mist, a Painting by God

Sometimes I just have to stop my random worldly thoughts and say, "thank you, God, I needed that." I wanted to pull over and take a photograph or two, but it was not possible in the morning traffic. I could only think of the Painter of Light as I drove down the highway, although I knew the sun would not make an appearance that day.

It was all right with me.

Sometimes attitude adjustments come unexpectedly. Just as dawn was breaking, the rain stopped, leaving the world in a foggy messy mist and me in a dark mood:

All grumbling and grumpy I wiped off my car

Every window, mirror and glass,

So I could see, as I cursed the humidity.

The droplets of moisture, larger than dew,

Then I drove the hairpin down the hillside

Into a scene that intrigued my perception,

Thomas Kinkade perfect, such beauty

stole my breath and enamored my heart.

The clouds embracing the hills, like

gossamer webs on live oaks.

Tendrils of mists clutching at their feet,

and across the way, shining crystals

embedded in a grandmother’s brooch,

lights in line, tiny sparkling jewels

peeking through the fog, silently sitting,

Patiently awaiting a turn of egress.

While I, still enraptured, entered

the rat race with a turn of heart,

regretfully leaving behind

such beauty in my rear view mirror.