Misty vistas (Mr. Whiskers)

I stir awake from a dream and let out a sigh. A new day arrived to kiss the old one goodbye.

The room is painted blue from the shy-faced sun that hasn’t yet fully emerged to say the day has begun.

I slip off the covers and to the window I tip-toe and the sight that I see gives my soul an inner glow.

A fog has covered the city with a soft cotton touch, dampening all that it reaches, not leaving out much.

Everything turns more quiet, more gentle, more slow. It is the more feeble cousin of our winter friend – snow.

So I return under the covers, still on the balls of my feet, to savour the stillness before the hustle I meet.

For now, just for a moment, everything is shhh and hush hush and here my soul can dangle without needing to rush.

How to recreate this quality even when of fog the blanket is lifted and dispersed making way for life’s banquet?

I will not wait for the fog to gift me this state. I savour it now before it’s too late.

I let it sink into my bones to embody it fully, so that I can reach it at will when I am again “in a hurry”.

Come again soon, my misty mistress.