The Fog

I am high up, in the mountains, standing on a cliff looking out to the world. Everything is white, all is silent, there is a calm after the rain that the sky had been crying on the earth for hours has stopped falling and moved some where else. The remains of the precipitation on the ground that has not been soaked up bah the thirsty roots of trees and other plants is now rising up into the damp air forming banks of fog that cover the horizon like a blanket making everything magically disappear and vanish from sight. I see nothing. A wall of white cloud surrounds me, envelops me and isolates me from enpvrything else. The air is cool, the wind blows swiftly up the side of the mountain making the fog swirl, caressing my skin and combing my hair, working into my long skirts and making the fabric a dancing array of colors in contrast with the pale fog. I feel calm, I am not scared. The fog whispers in my ear as the wind moves it by me, it places cool kisses on my cheeks, it’s sweet smell makes me sigh. It convinces me that all is well, I have peace. I outstretch my arms and feel the air move through the contours of my shoulders encouraging me. I close my eyes, I dream of flying, this is what it must feel like, I see in my mind the places that only a night I have visited with my head atop my pillow and I am happy. I open my eyes and I start to see once again the world that I knew, the trees salute me few feet from me and the mountains surface in the distance surging from the mystical white blanket that is now retreating into the wind flowing ever so gracefully up towards the sky to be burned away by the setting sun. I am awoken from this spell, this fantasy that had come over me, but I am not sad, I am calm, I will see the fog again and we may dream the next time that the sky decides to rain on the earth.


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