Through the fog, forms. Other buildings, sky. It could be the corneas of my eyes.
The corona of the sun is hidden.
There are no sun spots today; no solar flares, no solar storms.
The world is quiet. Lying under a blanket of mist. The wind is absent. If the birds fly, they fly blindly.
Do you have your fog lights on as you make your way along the snaking highways? Somebody stops or swerves in the flow of cars and there is a pile-up. Buckled metal and torn and broken lives, but not yours. You are caught in the stopped and slowed traffic and are late.
Not to meet me, but the others.
I am behind the fog.
Am I seeing anything other than dim forms and whiteness?
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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ooo, you are painting with light Brenda. I love that. Much catching up to do. Insane week, or beyond insane.
ReplyDeleteInsane can be good, really! And I like that - painting with light. You've given me a lift here on the very busy 63rd floor of the corporate bank tower where I am currently working... the windows all have magnificent views, but all week it's been foggy and I have seen small clouds moving by the windows like busy ghosts of the sky.
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