Fog - Aug 24 2022

 

Fog

Aug 24 2022

This heavy mist

feels like metaphor.

Because when fog closes in,

sets limits,

feels small and big

all at once,

it's like wrapped-up in oneself;

how we're all so self-involved,

how hard it is

to truly see another.

And while reassuring, in its way

— holding me close

in a protective embrace —

it also feels mysterious

directionless

even somewhat dangerous.

I stumble down the path

tripping over roots and rocks

blundering into trees,

neither seeing

nor being seen.

So I stop and sit,

listening

in a way I'm unaccustomed to,

intentionally

receptively

unjudgmentally.

Not a breath of wind,

every sound muffled.

I am a small fish

swimming in a shallow pond,

perfectly content

in its self-contained universe

as if nowhere else exists;

even relieved

to be oblivious

despite knowing better.

The fog settles in,

a cool mist

weightless

opaque

still.

It's as if time has paused,

and all the urgency

and important things

pressing down on me

no longer mattered.

And still listening

I wait for it to lift,

a fatalism

that feels strange and new.

But also liberating;

my mind

pleasantly adrift,

insubstantial thoughts

ghosting in and out.