This bridge is actually located in Fort Worth, Texas and the photo taken by my good friend and most talented photographer, Chris Emory. I gaze into this misty, foggy morning and I am amazed at how easily the eye can become relaxed, unfocused, most sensitive to the peripheral. I remember reading classics like Little Women or The Little Princess and getting lost in the foggy streets of London or a cozy, attic room at the tip top of Marmee’s house. I never could decide which ‘little woman’ I was. Now, I realize all the women were a composite dissected of women in general. We are complicated, We are complex. We sometimes can’t even describe what we are feeling, we just know that we do! Men don’t seem to understand that we are just as miserable sometimes as we are making THEM! Maybe that’s why I love cloudy, gloomy, sleepy days. Chilly, peaceful, foggy nights. There’s just something very ‘womb-like’ on a foggy, hazy night. We are enveloped in a mist that softens all the edges of our world. We are introduced delicately to each step we take. The low sound of a fog horn bellowing off the Connecticut coast sounds like a call for all to come inside, light the fire, light the lamps, gather your warmest, fuzziest blankets and slippers and have a peaceful cup of chamomile tea.