# Walking Through Mist

## The Quiet Descent

On a crisp February morning in 2026, I stepped outside and found the world softened by mist. Trees faded into gray, familiar paths blurred at the edges. Mist arrives without fanfare—no thunder, no wind—just a gentle settling that husks the sharpness of outlines. It reminds me how life often does the same: worries gather, plans dissolve, and suddenly, certainty feels distant.

## Sensing Beyond Sight

In that haze, I slowed. No rushing forward blindly. Instead, I listened: droplets tapping leaves, my breath steady in the chill air. Mist strips away the distant view, pulling focus to the near—the crunch of gravel underfoot, the faint scent of damp earth. 

It teaches a quiet philosophy: when vision falters, trust the other senses. Not forcing clarity, but moving with care. Uncertainty isn't an enemy; it's an invitation to presence. We strain less, notice more.

- Footsteps echo closer.
- Air carries hidden warmth.
- Each step builds quiet confidence.

## The Gentle Lift

Hours later, sunlight pierced through. The mist rose like a sigh, unveiling the valley sharp and alive. What felt endless proved momentary. This is mist's gift: it passes, leaving us grateful for the clear.

*In the mist of tomorrow, walk gently today.*