Stream, Wisconsin

I left Duluth at 5 a.m. that March day, at the end of a long, lonely conference.
Although the journey up had taken twelve hours, I planned to return in eleven.
I was ready to be home.
Three hours later, somewhere in Wisconsin’s midsection,
      the morning mist began to transform into an unquestionable fog.
I slowed my driving, for safety’s sake,
      but also to enjoy the beauty of the shrouded countryside.
“There are things more important than travel time,” I said to myself
      before turning off the interstate.
I found a county road that was heading south.
I wanted to be able to stop, if stopping was called for.
Almost immediately, a place on the left beckoned.
A stream, a few trees, the shifting fog, and there in the middle of it all,
      the sun wrapped in haze, dropping its reflection in the water below.
I took my time setting up my tripod and camera,
      breathing in the quietude that was everywhere around.
After making a handful of images, I stood there for some time,
      witnessing the fog as it crawled gently away.
I didn’t save an hour getting home that day.
Or did I?