On a perfectly clear morning a small bank of fog quietly rolls its way up the hills.
It could be that the morning caught it sneaking out into places it shouldn’t be.
It could be that it is simply making a statement with a subtle sign of rebelliousness.
Not many noticed the delicate cloud lingering, as the morning sun forced it towards the sky.
Reluctantly, it retreats slowly;
Not too slow as to let the heat of the sun dissipate its essence into nothing.
Not too fast as to deliver a victory to the sun
As to concede that a summer morning is no place for a little bank of fog.
By Margarita Morgan
September 22, 2014