Fog started rolling in last night, hovering along our street as my son and I returned late from a Thanksgiving feast. He noted the odd brilliance it cast, affording a seemingly incongruous clarity to the briskly chilly night lit only by street lamps. We were filled to the brim with autumn’s singular pleasures. And most thankful for it all.
Fog remained over the city this morning as I descended through a forest of high-rise office towers to my own place of work for the day job. Air was warmer, but it was as pristinely clear as it was last night.
And now, I’m as thankful, too, for the unexpected invitation to the Thanksgiving dinner, the shared pleasures of food and drink and conversation, a photo of a wild and beautiful beach across the Atlantic sent via text message from another Thanksgiving celebration, and a foggy autumn night and day in Paris.