When I woke this morning, all was fog, and then the clearing began. The fog stepped back and unveiled, veil by lovely veil. At one point there was a long slant of lit mist that literally took my breath away. I decided that watching the panoramic change was the most important thing I could do and now I can see across the hill and into the sky, and yet, all is soft, like dew.
I keep trying to balance being and doing, accepting and nudging. I think these seven words say it well.
And then there are the words of Eisenhower:
"Pull the string, and it will follow wherever you wish. Push it, and it will go nowhere at all."
The moisture drops and lifts, no string, no push or pull at all.