Summer has not yet come. Predictions of its arrival were misguided. Spring is back, and indeed has brought a little winter with it.

I woke up to the sound of wind, the trees outside dancing in the current of air, a mesmerizing scene.

Then clouds began to move in. Blue skies were obscured by white mist, first only a little, for we were at the tops of the clouds moving past, moving quickly. Now, the white billows, blankets the ground with palpable air. And it is cold. I shiver, and consider putting on a sweater.

Light does begin to break, at least in my soul. Movements forward again revealing themselves, even as I succumb to moments of acedia, stumbling my way through the morning.

The thick fog, quick moving clouds do not remove the bright blue above, they merely obscure it. The sun still shines, if not as brightly as I would like.

The same is true for the weather outside.