Morning Fog

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We may look like ordinary people, but we spent the night in a cloud, and we still haven't quite climbed out of it.

The world is as silent as snow, everything muffled and hushed, like forgiveness itself, all lines blurred, all edges softened.

I love this morning fog.  Sometimes we watch it roll in from the coast. It rushes up the canyon, cooling us, covering us, rendering us quiet.

Soon sunlight will banish it from the orchard and hills; the sea will reclaim it.

Looking out, we'll see it clinging to the islands in the channel, creating castles of cloud and mountains of mirage.