Whirling fog gently falling, rolling, tumbling down the hillside, mixed with tweets...whets...fluttering birds, hungry for life. Silhouettes small and large hover in the distance. Too timid to come out from fog's vale? Chill on the back of my neck reminds me the fog is all about our being here together alone. The grey morning follows dark night, then lighter still, in gradients closer to a day where few may find their purpose.
Nostrils mildly pierced by the sweet and poignant fragrance rising from the earth, cooled in the mist gently gliding by before she trips and gently falls like her playful and laughing brothers and sisters tumbling down before her. I see in my mind men below hurried with commitments erroneously more important than what is unfolding here, piercing eye, brain and soul.
A snail moves ever slowly across the grey and blue gravel; no apparent concern for its vulnerability. It lives...no concern for what could happen. Perhaps in this regard, a snail is wiser than I at this moment, as are its fluttering neighbors, free, dancing about with their partner, fog, reminding me how to be.
Otherwise quiet, a subtle melody skips not a beat pushing out from within my chest. No sun to peer through this dense moment; the light of life prevails still.
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