Every few months, we wake to find our little corner of Virginia wrapped in fog. It transforms the landscape in ways it’s hard to pin down. The usual bird sounds and squirrel chatter are missing. Even the regular herd of deer are absent. It is like nature gave everyone but us the morning off.
We get an hour of mystical silence to admire the patterns of light and shadow from our deck. Then, in a few minutes, the fog lifts and life resumes as usual. The Pileated woodpecker swoops down on his suet with a hearty cry and begins feeding. Female deer make their way across the road like a troupe of dancers, their long necks and slender legs moving gracefully. Then, with a toss of their heads, they sweep excitedly down the hill to claim their spots at the feeding station.
We treasure these moments. We have lived in too many places where morning fog never appears.