Until the Fog Lifts

The soft wail of a freighter’s foghorn pierces still moist air on a chilly spring morning.

Mist rolls across the lake, hiding the vessel in a blanket of mystery.

I cannot see beyond the shore, yet I know the boat is somewhere in the fog.

I too continue wandering through the fogginess of life shrouded in mystery, trusting someday the Creator will draw back the thin veil, and I shall see the face of God.

Until the fog lifts, I continue to quiet myself, training my heart to hear the voice of the One who draws me to a shore called Home.

–brian j plachta
brianplachta.com