As an artist, it’s pretty typical for me to go around in a fog. My brain is always occupied with something other than the task at hand.I am weeding in the garden, but thinking about the text for the book I plan to do.
I am in Yoga class trying to be present in the moment, but there is a mirror at the front of the room and I’m jazzed about the way my classmates look, reflected in the mirror.
I am riding my bicycle one-handed because my bike wheel is casting a cool circular shadow on the road and I’m fishing in my bike jersey pocket, trying to get to the camera before the light changes and the shadow disappears.
So I felt right at home yesterday as Leah and I hiked on a misty and foggy ridge-top in the Olympic Mountains. Every few minutes the fog would clear a bit and there would be the promise of clear vision, but then the fog would come swirling over us again and we’d be back in the soup. There was a waterfall nearby--I could hear it, but it was too foggy to see it. I put my camera on a tripod and waited patiently. Eventually I was rewarded with a momentary view of the falls.
Clarity/fog, clarity/fog.
Yes, hiking imitates life.
