I cannot see far or hear much, the thick grey fog is a blanket to such noise and a blur to the buildings and busyness of this world, creaking and cracking as it wakes, like my body, as I bend out of bed and rise. There is something sacred about mornings where life, once frozen, now slowly thaws as the raging orb of fire turns the corner and birds begin their native song of praise and all fear of darkness is hushed to a silence. Do not be too quick to work and run lest you miss the miracle of slowness and turn a deaf ear to the whispers of God who wants to quiet your anxious heart and remind you, oh child, to be still.