ephemeral
— something that lasts for only a brief, fleeting moment, carrying a delicate beauty that is deeply tied to its own vanishing
this morning, the woods were covered in silver mist.
i woke before the sun had properly risen, when the house was still blue with darkness. the kettle was cold, so i wrapped myself in my old wool blanket and stepped outside to gather some fallen branches for the stove.
the mist had settled between the trees like a great white lake. i could barely see the path beyond the clearing. everything was so quiet that i could hear the little drops of water falling from the leaves.
i sat on the little step for a while and drank yesterday's leftover tea, watching the world slowly appear. for a few minutes, everything looked soft, pale and impossibly far away.
i picked three tiny mushrooms from beside the door and arranged them on the windowsill. they looked like little umbrellas beneath the morning light. i know they won't stay beautiful for long. still, i wanted to see them there while i could.
by noon, the sun had warmed the forest, and the last of the mist was gone.
the mushrooms had already begun to curl at their edges.
i suppose that is why i like mornings so much.