Misty-Eyed

It's a quiet, still, misty morning. The sky is zen-gray. Although I know it must and will do its sun-shiny thing, I wouldn't mind if the sun stayed obscured by the mist a little while longer than usual, because this moist, soothing air puts me in a similar mood. No wonder mist is associated with the Otherworld. Things are hidden or half-seen. It evokes the kind of magic in folk and fairy tales.
I'm going to be quiet all day. I shall be watching a funeral on television. I know I will be moved, because I respected and admired the man who's being laid to rest. Many other people did as well. Tears will flow freely. I want to weep softly with people who feel the same way. It's sad, but not bad. Not bad at all.
I want to feel my heart burst. That's something I seldom feel. It's good to know I still can be moved in that way. The weather looks the way I feel - wistful, misty and mild. I'm leaving now to go for a walk in the park and breathe in the rich, moist air, and think what-might-have-been thoughts. I'm grateful to the man who's made me feel like this. So it's not so bad. Not so bad at all.
Blessed be.
- G.P.