Foggy Logic and Clear Skies
This morning, my son walked in and casually announced, “It’s foggy out.” I glanced outside, expecting a scene straight out of a moody mystery novel. Instead? Clear skies overhead, peeking through like it had something to prove. Apparently, the fog was just hanging out at ground level—like a lazy houseguest who refuses to leave but doesn’t block the view. Kansas weather strikes again: dramatic at eye level, chill above the shoulders. Still, something about that odd combo nudged me to get moving early. Maybe it was nature’s passive-aggressive way of saying, “You’ve had enough coffee. Time to earn it.” So I did. And honestly, it felt good to chase clarity through the haze.
