The Misty Mist

Mist

Yes, the mist is what I woke up to this morning. 7 am, not fully light but mostly. Naughty dogs cavorting and disappearing into it instead of doing their business, riverside. My voice echoing emptily. I stepped out into the back yard and the river was a glow of white- soft like a light bulb in puff. The dogs weren’t listening to me although my voice seemed extra loud. I came in out of the cold and made egg salad. I said, ‘Lord, could You please have the dogs come back?’ and tried not to think of them bothering any shy strangers from the bushy outlet they’ve forged that lets out near Sandy Cove park.

But the mist felt clean this morning- lingering sugar pie leading to eventual sun. I felt the small amount of peace that sometimes answers my prayers. And soon enough, feet moist and slightly dirty- two scraggly and naughty dogs came bounding up the hill. I shook my head and gave them a dog cooky, but they didn’t get any of my egg salad.

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