When I arose an hour ago and peered out through the twin windows that face the shore my eyes and mind noted the placid stillness of the water. Following the dock out into the depths the mist to the right was ethereal and tempted me to sally forth in search of meditation in the cockpit of my water craft and to hunt out photos of misty shorelines. Across the mile wide river, rising above the water a thin line of transparent fog drifted along the Canadian shore line. I thought: Yes perhaps after a coffee and a check of my emails I will slip out into the peaceful calm.
Forty-five minutes later, fortified by freshly brewed java and having updated my Facebook status, I venture out-of-doors to evaluate the air temperature and to go to the shoreline to estimate the density of the morning mist. Finding the air uncomfortably chilly and noting the wispiness of the diminishing fog , I decide to return to the comfort of the cottage with its oscillating heater and to there-in indulge myself with en autre tasse de cafe and read some more pages of my novel "Oxygen."
Coming to a chapter end I glance again to the river through the window to see , or not to see. For now the dock, the river, the Canadian shore line have disappeared in the dense fog. The cedars, only a few feet from the cottage, are now draped in a negligee of misty air. The surreal landscape begs to have it's photo taken. I'm reminded of a similar morn a few years ago when I ventured out, only to get lost and disoriented in the dense fog for a good part of an hour. Afraid to paddle for fear of getting into the channel and becoming flotsam for some ocean liner knifing through the water.
Suffice it to say I'll let caution dictate that a photo from the shore will be sufficient to satisfy my imagination and bring a meditative peace to my inner being.