Sometimes a fog rolls in heavy. All at once with an overnight blanketing of the landscape. Vision cut short without any warning.

Other times, it’s boiling-a-frog style. Slowly increasing morning by morning without enough difference from one layer to the next to cause any great alarm. Until one day, it’s been 20+ months since your last post in this space. And you realize the rising sun hasn’t burned off enough of the weight of it each day to give any relief.

It’s thick now. And I let it happen.

I WAS aware of the silence of my voice. I simply didn’t have the words.

Even this is not fully true. I CHOSE not to FIND the words.

It didn’t just stop posting. I stopped writing. I stopped reading. Stopped looking. Stopped listening. Stopped noticing.

Inside the fog, life’s Crayola-box of hues get mixed into one solid gray. Even when the light pierces through a bit, it’s only to lighten the shade, not split it.

Dimmed. Every life experience just a little bit muted. Like reaching out with a numbed limb unable to fully grasp. Still present. Still grateful. Still alive.

But muffled.


I honestly didn’t remember using the word in conversation with one who allows me to speak honestly about my life. It was May. Spring. The season of the bursting forth of new life. And even as we belly laughed together — like we always do — there was a fog over both of us.

Months later she asked, “Are you finding more color these days?”


As something to be Found.  Unearthed. Discovered. Hunted.

As something to cut through a gloomy mass of gray.

It should not have been a surprise that color can live in the fog, too. I didn’t have to look far. With the ribbons and wreaths and baubles of Christmas, I remembered to see it.

Which is how COLOR became my One Word for 2018. And my mission for the coming days.

To seek COLOR. To let it seek me. And, in the seeking, to lift a fog.

Until all that remains is an unobstructed view of my already abundant life.