Slow Enough To See The Course

I woke up sometime in the middle of the night hearing a long soft moan.  I got up and looked out the windows and a tug with barge was slowly moving down river engulfed in fog.  All that was visible were her running lights like a dot-to-dot puzzle of my childhood.  I love old boats in fog, plying away at their task, moving slow, wise to their plight; reminded me of my own plot; moving slower, aware of my station.  The older I get the greater the mystery, all seems somewhat hidden but I still seem drawn to The Great Solution.  Even this morning there is a spit of gold light where the sun is splintering through the fog to assure me it’s there but I had to get old enough to be slow enough to see it.  It is there—as surely as The Solution.