Drawn into the Mist
A Morning Walk of Soft Breath and Still Reflections
This morning called me outside before my coffee cup was empty. Drawn by the sight of misty fog settling over the world, I knew it would be a one-cup morning. Seva and I stepped into the quiet, accepting the invitation of the forest.
The air was warmer than it had been in weeks, carrying with it the grounding scent of damp earth and pine. Birds sang from hidden perches, their notes weaving through the stillness. The mist softened the edges of the trees, turning the woods into a dreamscape. Moist air clung to my skin, soft and heavy like being wrapped in a familiar blanket — comforting, grounding, and tender.
Crossing the threshold into the woods, the world shifted. Dewdrops hung like tiny lanterns from the pine needles, each one catching the muted glow of morning light. The moss at the base of the trees glowed a rich, vibrant green, more alive than it ever looks on a sunny day. The fog lingered low, curling around tree trunks like a breath held too long, mysterious and beckoning. I felt its pull, the quiet tug of wonder, drawing me deeper in.
As we wandered, I caught sight of the pond through the trees. The still water was a mirror of fog and branches, every reflection softened into a watercolor blur. Ripples moved slowly across the surface from an unseen source, their gentle motion the only sign of movement. The quiet here was different — more serene, more peaceful. I stood for a moment, breathing with it, each inhale and exhale a soft exchange with the misty air. My breath felt like part of the fog itself, rising and dissolving into the world around me.
The path meandered gently, curving between towering pines and oaks. I noticed the way the ground beneath my feet shifted from firm soil to patches of soft moss, its texture like a natural cushion. A fallen log, damp with dew, caught my eye. Its surface was a miniature world of lichen and tiny mushrooms, each one a work of intricate detail. I paused, crouching down to take in the close-up world that so often goes unnoticed. Seva sniffed at it too, her curiosity mirroring my own.
Every so often, a distant rustle of leaves reminded me that we were not alone. Perhaps a deer moving carefully through the fog, unseen but present. The stillness was profound, not an absence of sound but a fullness of it — the soft drip of water from branches, the distant tap of a woodpecker, the whisper of wind threading through the trees. It felt like the forest itself was breathing.
With each step, the world grew softer, quieter, and more alive. It felt like spring had come early, each sensation a reminder of nature’s quiet magic. The fog, still lingering, created a world without sharp edges, where time seemed to stretch and slow. Seva trotted beside me, her presence as steady and sure as the path beneath my feet. I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, as if I had stepped into something ancient and eternal — a place where every breath, every sound, every movement was part of a greater whole.
