The first sun, gleaming over the horizon, gently wakes us from our sleep.
After a few deep breaths of the fresh, crisp Thanksgiving air we become eager to stoke up the fire and percolate our morning coffee. In a fury of zippers, we get out of our sleeping bags and open the tent.
Like every morning in the outdoors, we are amazed at what we see.
The lake that we set up next to was completely invisible — blanketed under the morning fog. The sun peeked over the top of the fog, giving the illusion that we were in the clouds.
In a silent awe, we built a cooking fire and readied the pot and pan.
As the sun warmed the water, the fog grew thin. In an instant, the fog rushed outward from the center of the lake sending clouds, some thick, some thin, rushing through our camp — over our fire, through our tent — disappearing into the trees behind us.
It only took a minute for the lake to become clear. It now looked as if there had never been any fog there.
That was the first miracle we witnessed that day.