The Brume

This morning as I opened the garage door to start my ride to work I was confronted with a wall of white. Thick, swirling mist to my front door, hiding the nearby buildings and holding the world in eerie silence. Treetops in the distance were but a watercolour blush against the sky and the sun a wan circle between them.

As I cycled I inhaled deep breaths full of the soft coolness, felt it caress deep into my chest. The other dawn wakers amongst me were shrouded heavily, enveloped with each step a gentle kiss against naked skin.

As I neared the bridge and glanced along its length, it disappeared - a straight path heading into the clouds. Below me as I rode, the river's sparkling surface could not be seen for the spectral glacier of fog riding majestically towards the open sea. There was a stateliness as it travelled austerely below me, grey white in the early light.

I love mornings, when I can drag my protesting body out from under the heavy warm blankets, to lift my head from my pillow and see the glinting light of dawn on the horizon. I love how getting up early and getting ready starts me off for the day, the coolness of early morning breeze and the damp smell of dew. How lovely it is to have my little girls sitting up in the pale light at the table eating their breakfast looking excited because there are so many adventures to be had today. Kissing them and my freshly showered husband goodbye and then heading out into the day to take something from it.

But on mornings like today where ghostly shadows envelop the graveyard and spectral forms glide past as I ride, I'm enraptured.