It's been months since I've written, but I find help at this unlikely hour- the fog envelops me like a cloud with a soft, warm embrace. Beyond the fog is unknown- a distant light illuminating endlessly from an unknown origin. Smudged parallel lines marking the supposed sharp edges of residence. Black shadows, darkened even more so by the white, dusty fog. I am secure and feel more at peace, not being able to see beyond my home. I see myself, and who I am, separated from the place of work where I morph into a being without lines, without an origin, without and end. Here, the fog protects, makes me reflect, makes me smile, and I feel comfort.
It is thick and cunning, like Eliot's cat, and I've made an unlikely alliance with a treacherous piece of weather. The quiet massages my muscles, and I sigh a bit easier, feel less lonely, feel happy to be myself, like this, at home protected by white auras of color.
