May 17, 2018 Mist

I love misty mornings. I love the way the mist softens and conceals, the way it makes the world a mysterious place. Clouds, ephemeral and ghostly, rest on the trees. The eye looks upon the shrouded landscape and positively hungers for the reveal that comes with the heat of the sun. Mysteries are meant to be solved; mists are meant to melt away so that what has been hidden will be ablaze with clarifying light. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known. There is a mist here in this world that makes it hard to see – I do not know what true Beauty looks like. But one day, one glorious day, I’ll see the Beautiful Man face to face…and I’ll know. And I’ll be known.

Maybe I love mist because it reveals the longing in my heart.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.