shrouded in a cloak of mist

I slipped from the warm cocoon of my blankets and soft pillow. My feet touched the icy floor and a shiver ran through my body; I reached for my favorite sweatshirt. I headed downstairs and looked outside.

 Fog blanketed the grass, a heavy grey coat. I opened the door and stood there, drinking it all in. And then I stepped into the misty wonderland, feeling wonderfully small and lost, shrouded in clouds.

The world was quiet, save for the twittering of the birds far in the trees; the sky was a slight peachy color in the east; a sort of battle between sun and fog. Dew sparkled in the soft light, on the mums and crimson leaves and clothespins on the laundry line. And I photographed. I sighed inwardly and the soft clickclick of my shutter replied.

A sense of fernweh, wanderlust, came over me, wishing and longing and dreaming for the unknown. What exactly it was that I yearned for, I'm not sure. I think it's more the experiences of the journey that I crave instead of going to one specific place or experiencing one specific thing. I suppose I'm just I'm a traveling soul at heart.

The fog does these kind of things to you. And I love it. Anyone want to send some of their extra fog over to Oklahoma? Because we don't get it nearly often enough.



What do you favor -- clear, sunny days, or misty wonderlands?