There have been two days of heavy fog this week, very unusual for December in Vermont. With nighttime temperatures well below freezing and no wind, the fog coated the world in white hoarfrost. I kept no photographs from this week but, this one of a Red Oak leaf I made several years ago up in Hubbard Park on a similar morning gives you an idea of the magic that happens:
Although I did not take time to photograph the frost, I did seize a day to hike with my old friends Rob and Michael to the top of Spruce Mountain. While it was cold and gray with fog at the bottom, on top the sun was shining and the air was warmer. The views were spectacular—all the way to New Hampshire (above) in the east and Camel’s Hump (below) in the southwest and in between the thick blanket of fog. What a satisfying day it was.
Mixed in with fog and hiking mountains, the news, seemingly more dreadful than ever, has permeated so much of life. It feels like a stone in my shoe, constant and irritating and impossible to ignore. A thick fog of opinion roars, all too often not based on either civility or facts, and I am afraid it will simply lead to more and more faceless violence against innocent people indiscriminate of nationality, faith and color.
While I may not be able to do much to silence the insanity, I can stand up every single day for what I believe is sane—being respectful of others and doing what I can to help us find our way to a just human society. I am certainly not always “above the fog” of life, but I believe I am part of a greater simple and miraculous beauty, a place from which I sometimes lose my way. When I am lost, I know I can turn to this amazing world of ours—we humans included—to find my way back.