“One Misty Moisty Morning —

when cloudy was the weather —“

One Misty Moisty Morning


That refrain ran through my head when I opened the front door this morning and saw the mist lying thick about our lane.

“One misty moisty morning, de dum de dum de dum” I thought, but couldn’t quite come up with the rest until I went back in the house and asked Mr. Google about it.

“One misty moisty morning/ when cloudy was the weather

I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather —“

It’s a Mother Goose nursery rhyme of which I’d forgotten all the rest except the first two lines. Turns out to be about an old leather-clad man who goes a-courting. (Yep, in the mist.) Mr. Google provided me with his whole story as rendered by British folk-rock  band Steeleye Span in an interminable folk-song rigmarole that you can find here if you’ve got the time and inclination and you like that sort of thing. (Sometimes I do.)

Anyway, there was no old man in or out of leather walking down our lane. Just a misty moisty morning fog lying low and making our lane uncharacteristically mysterious for a little while. And making the morning’s New York Times in its plastic sheath stand out in full orange brilliance in the grey misty moisty morning —

Good Morning Times


Which lasted perhaps an hour longer, and then the romance, like the fog, wore off, and the world and all of us in it went back about our usual business. Good morning, everyone!


This entry was posted in Color, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to “One Misty Moisty Morning —

  1. Lucid Gypsy says:

    I also like a touch of diddly dee music sometimes!


  2. Lucky for you nobody was skulking around. NIce shot, though. Misty can be good. Just not for too long. 😉


  3. I love a misty morning……….or better yet a misty day….my favorite thing to do on these days is visit the cemeteries and let the melancholy wash over me.


  4. belocchio says:

    Oh but the man in leather is there – just behind that big tree. The mist curling around his toes and creating a halo around his head. Listen closely. He is humming your song.


    • Touch2Touch says:

      How great this is — instead of grumping on the next misty moisty morning (tomorrow?), I’ll be looking for the man in leather and listening for his song.
      You certainly know how to reframe things!


  5. Fog provides for excellent opportunities for interesting photos, and you certainly captured one. A nice image. And then Steeleye Span; I haven’t heard them for many, many years…


    • Touch2Touch says:

      Otto, I have to confess I had never heard of Steeleye Span before, even though I really enjoy folk music. But that nursery rhyme has persisted with me for decades, and just a little googling brought up the band.
      The mysteriousness of fog is another thing that has long persisted with me. Fog isn’t so uncommon here, I’ll remember what you say and look harder for photo ops!
      Your visit is much appreciated.


  6. atwistedpair says:

    The “old man clothèd all in leather” is certainly apropos your “misty moisty morning”. And Steeleye Span started up their diddly dee in my head the very moment I read your headline. On this side of the world, we are in autumn – which itself is (as Keats reminds us) a “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” – and a friend has today brought me a jar of his freshly-made marmalade, which I will find irresistible at breakfast on the next misty moisty morning. Thanks for another delightful post.


    • Touch2Touch says:

      Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen spring’s new green brightening the tired brown grass that made it through this winter’s snows. So I am finally thinking spring thoughts — but your delightful comment reminds me of the beauties of autumn. Yes, I love that season of mists and mellow fruitfulness — one of the most memorable poetic phrases ever.
      So let each of us, on our opposite sides of the world, rejoice today in our appropriate season!
      (I’ll imagine you soon enjoying that marmalade, homemade, what a treat!!!!)


      • atwistedpair says:

        I interpreted the friend’s gift of marmalade as having well and truly called my bluff: I had posted an autumnal piece that included the observation that “I ought to look out for some cheap fruit at the weekend market – I really enjoy bottling preserves and jam-making.” But I confess to having cheated (in a good way, of course) by giving him, in return, fruit in liquid form: a bottle of Chilean Merlot.


  7. Long after I was all grown up, my mom used to recite this poem on misty moisty mornings. Thank you for that little jog of memory and the chance to hear her voice again, if only in my head.


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