I love those foggy morning when everything is still hidden from sight and I can concentrate on making my porridge: five spoonful of oats, a handful of raisin, a generous spoonful of honey, a cup of water; bring it to a slow bubble; add some milk; wait for it to bubble again; serve with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar; enjoy!
There's something about foggy mornings that reminds you that all in life is not black and white, that the fog always lifts, and no matter how bad things are, you can at least be happy that you woke up this morning.
The fog has lifted, I've eaten my porridge, and am now into my second cup of vanilla-flavoured chai. I've yet to switch on the radio and listen to the news. Maybe I won't; maybe I continue this silent reverie for a little longer to allow the sun to burn off the last few shrouds of fog, on the river and in my mind. Morning has broken like the first morning ...
One day I may even finish the Nelligen Yacht Clubhouse by the flagpole.
