Fog on Groundhog Day. Need a ruling from Bill Murray.
MADISON, GA — Groundhog Day investigative report.
It was 9 a.m. and Tebow needed walking.
I could have been in church this morning with the rest of my family. Things didn’t work out that way for me today.
Not gonna overshare what’s between me and the Lord and besides that’s taking away from the significance of February 2.
The day that foreshadows how long the evil Queen of Winter will throttle my weathered skin and chap my lips. Among other things.
So I girded my loins and headed out with my camera to record shadows.
Or the lack there of.
Fog.
People, there was fog.
.
And lots of it.
This dense mist was probably lying around as the day dawned. Central Georgia isn’t like San Francisco where a game could start with blue sky and then have Candlestick shrouded in a gray cloak by the bottom of the third. (Or as it used to be.)
Fog here starts after sunset. Slowly leaching in. Filling up nooks and crannies that you choose not to think about. Like the chipped spots in the shutter that needs repainting or the underside of the weeds that have infiltrated your collards.
So it’s safe to say when the groundhog popped out of his hole around here,
No shadow.
No shadows,
For my coffee cup.
For my Tebow.
For the fire hydrant.
For the dear birds flitting here and there. Nary a speck of shadow.
The damp coolness lay on my hands and on the leash and on the this rusting tin roof.
A roof that might have seen its last Groundhog’s Day dawn.
In literature — the wonderful symbolic kind that not enough of us write and read anymore — sun and light mean just that. Goodness and fullness and happily ever after.
Well, until an owl shows up.
Just letting you know if an owl shows up in a book you’re reading — death is lurking somewhere.
Shadows on the other hand can project evil. The negative side of our souls.
But fog? What in the heck do we do with that?
Light enough to see. The sun filtered through clouds. Light so blocked that negative reflections cling to the body, unable to spill onto the ground for all to see.
With fog, the definition between the heavens and the earth is lost.
Gray and blurred lines.
Hmmp.
So for me, it’s a toss up.
I’m hoping for a shorter winter, but I guess only the groundhog knows for sure.
What about you? Did you see a shadow this morning?
