What a mundane life it would be if we missed mornings like these. Mornings like this. The cold morning where you’re not really cold. The foggy morning where nothing is obscured, but everything is hidden behind the thinnest of veils. To think that people miss these days on purpose. What a mistake. What a tremendous and enduring mistake. There’s nothing like these days. The heat and warmth of an early southern morning feels wrong to me. Why wouldn’t I want to be here, to see this, to feel the way a morning like this feels? If I were captured and hauled away, I’d forever miss this sort of morning. This distinctly Wisconsin morning, where the sun will come soon enough, but not before the fog has its say. This is one of those things that we do better than anyone else, and to miss it would be an eternal shame.
I suppose it’s just another cold and frosty morning, and there’s not a lot to say.