Driving over the mountains this morning, the fog was heavy. Really heavy. It was hard to see through it.
At first it was eerily beautiful, even comforting though cold and unforgiving. A pair of soft black gloves I’d purchased before the end of the year were my companions, along with the music coming from my portable music player attached to my stereo via a long analog cable.
At a point early on I witnessed a collection of bright rays of sunshine searing through tall Redwoods onto the road and across. They looked like sharp swords, angled and digging into the ground all around.
I smiled. To me those rays symbolized hope. If I’d been more preoccupied with the other drivers, the time or what was on my to-do list for today I would have surely missed the magnificent display that nature had presented to me. But I’d driven this road plenty of times before. I was able to focus on what before would have easily been overlooked.
There was a spot after what seemed like an eternity where a break in the clouds took place. I saw the blue sky above me as my 1999 Honda Prelude made quick work of the incline. The break got bigger and the fog dissipated. Somehow I knew everything was going to be ok.
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