Kinds of Honey

My Midwest has been making me supremely happy with these dewy, foggy mornings. I step outside and breathe in the air with a feeling akin to relief. We had these rarely in Colorado, and I am sure they were not quite the same. Not the same cool thickness, not the same soaked grasses.

Today I moved to Wisconsin; more on that later. But one of my last days in Iowa started with such a gray-white, England-like morning and I had to slide on shoes – even while still in my pajamas – to catch it.

Is it possible magic things can happen in nature’s fog? Does magic dwell there somehow?

Tiptoeing around outside, I swear I felt it seeping into my skin. I stopped. Hushed. Held out my hands in welcome.