As a child I loved foggy mornings. I liked the mist obscuring fields and buildings and the sun. The mist seemed like a protective veil keeping out intruding details. The mist seemed to say, “Stay home and think inward thoughts.”
When I began drawing, as a college art major, I loved using a pencil to shade images of buildings in depicted landscapes so that they seemed to reveal themselves as though emerging from a fog or a mist. I wonder if my drawings were influenced by my early impressions of foggy mornings or if there is something in my soul that wants details obscured so that I may “see” essences, the true meanings, of things.
When envisioning foggy mornings I remember seeing on the farm my paternal grandparents owned, I see outlines of a barn and a grainery (a small barn) emerging from a mist. There seems to be something spiritual in that imagery, maybe something related to incense and veils and mysteries.
Strangely, when I experience a foggy morning amid the pine trees where I now live, I think of a chorus that contains these words: “Shut in with God in a secret place / There by his Spirit, beholding his Face / Gaining new power to run in the race / I long to be shut in with God.”
A foggy morning . . . where land and sky are united by a mist. A foggy morning . . . where things become “one.”