I woke up to a lovely fog: a world of softened edges and limited horizons. 

Gone is the street behind me, and the house with the long drive beyond. Front and center are the particulars of my yard: the leaf piles at the back, the twisted trunk of the volunteer cherry, the covered garden bench.

Fog makes us all myopic. It takes away the forest and gives us the trees. It provides an excuse for seeing only what is close at hand. 

Sometimes I need that.