Mists

There's way too much to love about today: the elderly Maltese couple I chatted with about moving back to their homeland, the super cute Chinese couple that just moved to the US, the missionaries that walked by my front door. This is turning into a tough exercise.

My bike ride was amazing. It was a misty morning, and dew was evaporating from the grass and canal. The air was cold but refreshing, and I was able to think as I rode. As I past Fletcher's Cove, I heard what always sounds like a waterfall, and I saw hovering mists shifting in a small breeze. Initially, the mists reminded me of a Sherlock Holmes short story, The Hound of the Baskervilles. The fog on the moors were so well described in the story (or my imagination was so vibrant as a child) that my mind went straight to the painted picture the book left on my mind. It was beautiful.