Fog-Laden

I woke up floating in a cloud. My little home was adrift among white fog that surrounded the home, the neighborhood, the town. It was chilled and quiet. Fog acted as a buffer for sound, absorbing all the early morning noises. Trees were enveloped, with clouds intertwining in the branches, hanging on and settling in.

Dense. Intense. It was dramatic since one could maybe see 20 feet ahead, so driving was a different feeling where no depth perception was present. The world felt like a mysterious scene from a Sherlock Holmes story. Dark, foggy, chilled. The mystery was almost creating itself.

There is something about the overcast gloom that gets my imagination going. Sunny weather is too mundane because it is always there, and it has no story to tell. It is chock full of easy metaphors and images of happy sunshine. But the darkness presents a challenge, and there is where the story, thought, and journey come through.

I breathe deep the fog-laden air and imagine something is about to happen. Steps toward the light along the foggy journey.