Mist and Masks

Delycia and I took a quick (2.5 mile) morning walk around the seacoast town of Noank (CT) this morning, and we had the mysteries of mist all around as we walked. It’s always wonderful to realize that seeing boats and the sea somewhat hidden in mist surprisingly makes them seem even more exquisite, more magnificent than when seen in clear light. It is, indeed, a spooky but very pleasant power that mist has.

And masks, too, can sometimes bring out a curious shine in faces, especially valiant elderly travelers out scouting the morning mist.

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Mist on a May afternoon
can find the truth for you. 
If yelling at yourself 
and sending disagreement out
like shots from guns
has brought you
to a house of horror, 
try making friends with mist 
when May has found you 
with its helpfulness
and its family-like mist. 
This affectionate, friendly haze 
will call you
by your real name. 
Out of nowhere, 
the missing you 
might finally arrive 
through the pathway
of this 
springtime mist.

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One Tuesday in September, 
a man named Harold Smith 
said to the clerk 
at the Social Security office 
that he wished to change his name 
to Harold Hidden, 
simply because 
he suddenly saw so many marvels 
hidden inside
every single moment. 
He said he now saw sadness 
secreted far down inside 
stormy words,
and friendship was camouflaged 
deep down in almost everything. 
He told the clerk,
whose name was Carl, 
that he knew peace 
was working undercover everywhere, 
always ready to shine its light.
He said love was sometimes disguised
in the form of anger, 
and wisdom was occasionally masked 
as sorrow. 
“So Carl, can this new name happen for me?”
he asked, 
and Carl coughed,
and then smiled 
like he suddenly understood something.  

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