Foggy Morning Prism
I remember this morning well. It’s the view from my front porch. I got up early. The house was quiet, when I peeked out the window. The fog really was this gorgeous lavender with a streak of yellow up above. And the trees really were a gray purple, soft and dissolving in the mist like a Monet painting. Sometimes the mundane world and the dreamworld align, and you’re given a little gift of magical beauty.
I remember this morning well. It’s the view from my front porch. I got up early. The house was quiet, when I peeked out the window. The fog really was this gorgeous lavender with a streak of yellow up above. And the trees really were a gray purple, soft and dissolving in the mist like a Monet painting. Sometimes the mundane world and the dreamworld align, and you’re given a little gift of magical beauty.
I remember this morning well. It’s the view from my front porch. I got up early. The house was quiet, when I peeked out the window. The fog really was this gorgeous lavender with a streak of yellow up above. And the trees really were a gray purple, soft and dissolving in the mist like a Monet painting. Sometimes the mundane world and the dreamworld align, and you’re given a little gift of magical beauty.