Muddy paws

Looking at the clay tile of the balcony’s deeper than usual tone shining with puddled moisture, I wondered if it was rain or mist. The mountains were hidden. It didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t too cold, the dampness of my sweats would feel good. I chose the tie-dyed orange hat with the big brown PEACE sign, even though it didn’t match my already ragamuffin getup.

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It was earlier than usual but I sit here so excited to start this day. Something new and exciting; and it seems that I am no longer anxious at the prospect of the unknown. Bring it on!

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The birds were clustered in multitudes in the welcoming tree. Did they gather there every morning? Chat over some warm, refreshing worms the way we all gather over some coffee and muffins? Is their universe parallel, or is it one with ours? Many of them scattered as I approached, but most just circled and returned to their perch. There was no music today- I decided to go it alone. But there WAS music. The sound was so rich, enhanced by the thickness of the air, like the cream in my coffee. The melody periodically paused, followed immediately by the drum of the distant woodpecker’s search for sustenance.

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In the foothill of this magnificence I looked up to see the rising slopes of the beautiful hills, whose tips were now covered like a loosely clad lover, aroused, yet bashful under her sheet. I am awakened.

A quenching, muddening sensation- it was MIST.

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