The fog broke in a matter of a moment or two, the world suddenly shifting from white, to gold, and then there was the meadow and hills.  As the sun broke through, the clouds appeared, low slung ranks of blue-gray, shading up to white and above them patches of robin’s egg blue sky.  Out of the fog the earth and sky had returned or I had returned to them; they had been out there, of course, but out of sight, out of mind.  The mist blew off the pond, drifting across the meadow, the trees red, grey and the startling lichen green, bright in the darkest corner.  

And then the event was over, the world outside the window was simply a wet January day, the clouds, the woods and the wind exactly as they ought to be.  The sense of wonder passed. 

Such sudden shifts in the world outside the window could be anticipated by watching the weather forecast.  But, somehow to know such a shift is about to occur takes away the vibrancy of it.  Knowing the future in detail takes away from the present and the ability to pay attention to the moment.  Not that I enjoy unpleasant surprises, mind!