Unseen Beauty: A Journal

Mist

The mist lies thick over the morning world, its pale fingers twining in tree branches, the swirl of its breath pooling over the roofs of sleek modern cars as they pause at stop lights. It is the whisper of uncertainty in our well ordered existence, a reminder that the familiar and mundane is so reliant upon what we can see, what we interpret through the sieve of experience. The white wonder beyond the windows changes the world, reshaping it without its sharp edges, dulling the brilliant sheen of the modern and mechanical and casting us into a less certain, more frightening place.

I pushed my modern machine through the mist this morning, metallic tan chassis sliding through the suspension of water and air – iron wending its way through the world of magic with practical purpose. Ahead of me, the thin stripe of dark road stretched out, the lights of other travelers markers in the mist. But beyond the few light markers ahead of me, the road and the world around it faded into pale uncertainty. Strapped into technologically contoured padding, I smiled to myself, knowing that, in a way, the pale fog of morning was more than a bit of beauty and wonder, soon to be burned away by the Florida sun. For me, the mist was a marker, an emblem of life. Each human being has a world, a space around her or him in which things are known, familiar, sure. But few of us live only in the certainty of now; there are so many other things further out. Hopes, dreams, plans, and promises crowd the edge of our vision. They are powerful things, sometimes as clearly defined as the tangible present – last week I missed my turn on the way home because I was dreaming of my own office as a faculty member. Yet the further ahead of us those hopes are, the less clearly defined they become. Like the cars in the mist ahead of me this morning, the future too far ahead, or the possibilities too far away from us fade into half-seen forms which we define only through guesswork, half-knowledge, and past experience.

Outside the office windows, the mist is glowing now, its magnificent fusion of water and air touched by the fingers of the sun’s fire. It will soon fade, unable to sustain its mystery and obfuscation in the powerful presence of the summer sun. But as it fades, it takes on a brilliance beyond belief, a surreal golden glow enveloping the world in tangible light. It leaves behind the sharp-cornered world, the place where the shine of technology promises certainty and dreams are assembled, not crafted. In my office I wait, sipping coffee, facing up to another day, and knowing that, if I wait, the mist with its promises will clothe my world again.