one morning in the fog

September 20, 2014 § 1 Comment

It is a season of change: crisp, cool mornings; cars covered in dew; evenings demand a light blanket; phantom-like mists wind around forest trees and hover over meadows; the harvest is abundant with apples and pumpkins. These are the signposts: our landscape and mountaintops will soon be draped in blazing color and frosty nights.

Following an early morning ritual of reading (currently it is Dickens’s Pickwick Papers), writing, and consuming a good quantity of freshly brewed Scottish Breakfast tea, I embarked on my daily walk at about seven o’clock. My path took me through the charming, historic streets of the Village of Athens. My plan: complete the last quarter mile at the Riverfront.

Once there, I was stunned. The River, and the River only, was enveloped in a  fog so thick it blocked out the sun’s warmth I felt just moments before. I thought I was living in Maine again; or, I had unwillingly been transported into a Stephen King novel to be terrorized by some horrific clown event that could only emerge from King’s mischievous yet fiendish imagination. (I’m a fan of both the man and his writing.)

There was no terror; only fog and the mystery it conjures. Standing there wrapped in mist, I thought of questions I’ve asked myself for months, maybe a year now, common to many of us at one point or another in our lives:  who am I; what do I really do and why do I do it; what have I contributed to the world in my seventy-one years; have I made a difference for betterment in some small way?

I’ve been haunted by a passage in Isak Dinesen’s, “Out of Africa:” Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?  An eloquent way of asking: Will I be remembered?

Neither fog, nor River, provided answers; I didn’t expect them to. Questions with no answers are what Age carries in her satchel as she dispenses dichotomies of joys and sorrows; glory and humiliation; wisdom and wandering, lost minds.

This one morning, though, presented a Divine Intervention for me as I studied the breathtaking sight: the struggle between the fog’s determination to shroud the River; the sun’s inevitable supremacy, which would erase the fog.

I love these images. I hope you do too.

Fog on the River No. 1 Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 1
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 2 Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 2
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 3 Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 3
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 4 Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 4
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 5 Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Fog on the River No. 5
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

I completed my photo shoot and walk. I felt alive. I felt whole. Equanimity was mine; though, for too brief a time. I often abandon that which feeds my soul in the name of busyness, meaningless gossip, superficial activities, and the need to put food on the table. The latter, a reality. The fog eventually evaporated; so did the feeling of serenity.

Impermanence is the Law of the Universe. So be it.

The Book Of Abbey

Abbey is well, thriving, and more accepting of cuddling. She loves a new game I created called belly-blow-kisses. She rolls and wiggles and, dare I say, looks like she’s laughing. This image, though not of her laughing, was taken during an iPhone experiment. I like it. I used the Noir filter. It was fun to do.

Abbey en noir et blanc Copyright 2014 Lee Anne Morgan

Abbey en noir et blanc
Copyright 2014
Lee Anne Morgan

 More To Come

In a few weeks, I will be writing about a life-changing experience for eight courageous people and me. Look for Mockingbird in the title!

I’ve said enough.


Thank you for your willingness to take this virtual tour with me …
One Morning in the Fog. 

LAM 1st Name:Sm

 

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