It happens every single summer, but only here in Georgia. I never saw it up north.
The first time I saw it was just after we re-located to the South years ago. I was driving somewhere and had a moment…one of those …moments…where you just see or realize or feel something, and your heart just sort of wells up like it might cry.
It was the mist. It clings here. It dangles. Hides. Peeks. Delicately hugs the leaves and the grass. A gift given in the hot, humid part of the summer that we otherwise detest. A present if we have eyes to see.
I’m not sure why I like it so much, but I do. It seems precious somehow to me. Fleeting.
Fleeting things just sort of whisper by, don’t they. A moment that drifts by, an awakening or thought that comes and goes, a note in a song that you wish would never end but it must…and does.
I saw the mist again this morning. It must be a different mist, after all these years, yet “it” returns summer after summer.
The eyes to see have returned as well.