“Derive happiness in oneself from a good day’s work, from illuminating the fog that surrounds us.”

— Henri Matisse

The view outside my window this morning is foggy.  It rolled in overnight and left the whole world shrouded in gray.  I like my Mondays to be sunny and clear, probably because it gives me a good feeling about looking into the week ahead.  Instead, my bed felt cozy this morning, and I actually hit the snooze button on my alarm clock.  Like a caterpillar, I nestled into my fog cocoon and convinced myself that it was not yet time to emerge.  The transformation would require a few extra minutes of sleep today.  Soon the alarm declared that my rest was done, so I pulled on my jeans and sneaks and stepped out into the muffled mist of morning.

My traveling companion, grand-dog Patches, sniffed the air and then licked at it, trying to drink in the moisture.  He could feel it, too — the half-air/half-water cloud that swirled and rolled around us as we walked.  I looked down at my own arm to assure myself that I was not invisible, but even my own body seemed to lose its boundaries as I swam through the haze.  Only my feet, touching down on the familiar path through the park, reminded me that I was out of my bed and moving through a new day.

How often, I wondered, do we begin a new day in this same way?  Whether the fog is tangible and real or simply a figment of our imaginations, how often do we see our days as changeless and colorless and unremarkable?  How often do our feet strike out on an all-too-familiar path, pulling us along half-awake and unaware of anything exciting that might be happening around us?

We must bring our own light to the fog, whether it is held in a hand as we make our way through the early-morning mist or whether it shines from the heart and sheds brightness on the unremarkable day that calls us to get up and walk.  I waited all the way around my morning path, but the sun still was hidden when I stepped across the threshold and into the warmth of my home.  I raised my hands to my hair and touched the droplets that had landed there.  Running my hands over my arms, I warmed them as the moisture began to disappear.  I wiped my shoes on the welcome mat and shook my shoulders, bringing my body into wakefulness.  Only then did I notice that I had grown the most beautiful wings.