Fog

This Lovely Gray

Blanket of wide cloud — That gray could be so lovely Embracing that tree

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I know. And on any given day other than this particular given one, this sight might have escaped me unseen and unappreciated. But the sight did not escape me and I was struck by a beauty so modest that we rarely take heed.

One thing we mostly overlook and/or forget is that the sky reaches all the way to the ground; and the fog this particular morning could very well be a cloud, a cloud-blanket reaching and touching the ground — and many of its citizens. Among them:

A copse of trees stands the other side of the field to my right; one tree in particular, a very tall conifer of some kind, has stepped out in front and wrapped itself in a regal coat of gray that dims him to outline only from the shoulders down. A mighty warrior, steeped in gray. Aragon, perhaps. Ancient and long dead, yet threateningly alive, challenging a mere human to approach. I decline, too taken with the sheer beauty of the scene.

The gray of cloud darkens the green of tree to black, and therein lies some of the mystery, some of the danger. Still, while I decline to approach, so does Aragon: remaining stationary, holding his ground, hugging that cloud.

I try to speak to him, but if he hears me he does not let on and he in turn says nothing. Just watching me watching him and waiting for me to get on with my walk so that he can return to whatever business or musing or singing I have interrupted.

Okay, I can take a hint. Still, “You’re beautiful,” I say to the tree and to the cloud. “See you guys later.”

© Wolfstuff