My mother once pointed out how the mist quiets everything as it lays like a down comforter. I have appreciated that nuance ever since... how it muffles the morning noises: the clunking of car doors as neighbors leave for work, the traffic and birdsong, as if God depressed the huge una corda pedal on His piano and every earthly sound wave was subdued and dampened.
The lamb's wool atmosphere creates the acoustics likened to a recording booth where
tones hit a wall,
harmonics are rendered one dimensional.
Fog signals the arrival of Florida's winter. That's how one knows the season has turned. The mid-day warmth hardly indicates Indian Summer's end, as temperatures still hover in the low 80s and air conditioners run strong.
Another clue showing the change is the long silver trailers full of eager thoroughbreds, geldings and warmbloods arriving for the Winter Equestrian events.
That's when the expansive fields, sleepy barns and trainer's quarters come alive after summer's hot lull.
We who live in this British-named town welcome its winter visitors as they heed the call:
Jumpers while the sun is setting
Turf is tossed where hooves are treading
Palms and pines stand straight and tall
Hopefuls for the cup, they traveled
Roads of air and sea and gravel
Morning glow on fields and ranches
Fog lays low on green expanses
Softly shrouding barns and stalls
Trainers from the mist emerging
Reins and horses gently urging
Polo's afternoon attraction
Crowds erupt with loud reaction
Cantering roars like cannonballs
Riders, ponies bump and pivot
While we race to stomp the divots
Regal Dressage elegances
Hunters clear the rails and fences
Embrace the speed, renounce the falls
Audiences line arenas
Hats, high boots complete the scene as
Hopeful hearts for purse and prizes
Pain rewarded, dreams realizing
Chance to grace museum walls
The equine captivates and courts us
Both spectator and skilled sportsman
(Inspired by Will Oglevie's Aintree Calls)