Walking through the fog. Smeary lights. Smudgy existence. Wondering. Wandering. Peripheral is gone. Blur tool in photoshop. That sepia orange so artificial it doesn’t even mimic the moon. A dog’s tail. Is it still clear for him in the fog? So many dog walkers out that night – lights, no lights. Pee break.
I remember walking on this day and embracing the dark, embracing not knowing and not seeing. We are so reliant on our sight that I think it blinds us. Blinds us through assumptions. What we presume – the stories we tell ourselves. The fear we create in our own minds. Fog can be welcoming, not ominous. Not spooky. Blanketed by fog – protected. Hiding. Cloaked. It feels soft and warm – muffles the sound like a crisp snowfall. Removes the excess. What is essential? Tap into other senses. Cotton candy fog. Wispy, fruity fog. Can I make friends with fog? Welcoming all that is not clear to me – training my mind to not fill the gaps. Blissful, all over fog.
where rivers are born 