It’s a misty commute. In several spots visibility dims to fog levels (less than 1000 metres if you are curious about the definition of fog) but there’s morning sun so it’s a bright obstruction. In fact here and there the air clears and sunlight is the cause of extreme squinting.
Last night’s journey was hazy like some weirdness was erasing the landscape- perhaps I would arrive home to find nothing there? I was intrigued. In the obscured I feel wrapped up rather than separated. I am in my hermit era. I am a soul happily cackling in the mist, on my own path.
But!
Every now and then I connect with outside life and a question sneaks out-
What does lie ahead, beyond the fug of modern uncertainty?
And the answers bounce back like this:
the only place we can influence the future from (or the past) is the present: the best place to begin is here; the best time is now.
Small stuff adds up.
What seems set in stone forever is swept away by weather; certainty is wobbly, never build on that.
Cute homilies can yet be true.
Nothing as definitive as the measure of visibility required to label a fog.
But!
Today I bought a tin of beans and was delighted by the convenience. I had an extra cup of coffee. I wrote pretty words. I’m writing them now: I’m writing ‘we can do this.’
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