I am sitting this rainy Thursday on my usual morning bus; my one-hour commute has become a two-hour commute thanks to traffic. At least the leaves are pretty.
Between all the bleary-eyed bus rides and missed subway trains, there’s still a curious sort of peace to be found. My life these days seems to involve a lot of waiting; I am asked to be still and trust that I’ll get where I need to go eventually.
This morning the city skyline is masked in a fog thicker than any I’ve ever seen. If you had never been here before and looked out over the Hudson right now, you’d probably think someone was pulling your leg telling you that the most iconic city skyline in the world was right in front of you. You might as well be looking at a blank white sheet. How is it possible for something so huge and monumental to be concealed? But I’ve seen that skyline every other morning and evening, and I know it’s still there behind the cloud of fog.
So I’ll continue on my way and walk beneath buildings that seem to disappear into nothingness. I’ll get to work eventually, and I’ll probably sigh with relief when I do. But I’ll take care to notice these little things in the meantime, the little things that are the big things. It’s not every day you see a fog like this.