There aren't many days we have fog here in the Texas Panhandle. I sometimes (okay….all the time) envy green and lush locales. Rolling hills….little wildflower meadows and tall verdant grass.
I sometimes wonder though if other people envy our grand scale here in Texas. Our thunderstorms that pop up suddenly and rage upon us only to leave beautiful mornings of hope and promise.
Last night as the clouds loomed and the sky darkened and the rain (and in some places, hail) fell, the kids shivered at the bang, crash. We woke up to a wet patio and water in the valleys of the yard. On instinct, I gingerly plunked my photo bag into the car knowing (hoping?) that I would see anew.
After dropping off the middle one, Chuga and I ventured. We drove down dirt mud roads. We peeked over fences and trekked out in boggy water. We got lost on a road only because it was so foggy we couldn't see. We pulled over on lonely paths and listened to the birds whooshing through the air and trilling at us as if to say "isn't today beautiful?" and "look at me fly-isn't it glorious!" and "we are so blessed!"
And I was…