Refreshing Mist

Cool mist blankets weary faces in the predawn stillness. "Another day!" being either a shout of anticipation or a groan of despair. Chesterton's child-like God delighted again each morning with another miraculous cycle. Ever the same, always new. Or the sinking realization that one's waking did not end the nightmare, but, in fact, seems to be closing in all around you, sealing off all exits.
We take ourselves wherever we go. Gift or curse, depending on one's frame of reference. Human maturity is imperceptibly slow. A reflection of steady, sure progress or stubborn resistence?
There's something refreshing about the morning mist, though, that cleanses spirits and renews hope. Got to get outside earlier in the day and lift my weary face upward in receptive anticipation.