The fog rolls in. Unhurried it comes creeping, slinking in almost unnoticed. Unaware that it is converging, she travels through her world of family, errands, and trivial tasks. Slowly her world begins to turn a pale shade of gray. As the fog approaches, the uneasiness sets in. The vagueness comes. An expression emerges. One that conveys confusion, sadness, followed by a lethargy that is beyond her grasp.
No longer able to move quickly, she navigates the dense mass slowly with an abandon that she would otherwise consider wreckless. Her eyes glaze as the importance drifts away. She watches it float elsewhere. Twirling in the fog, leaving its tracks to remind her that it was once there. She wonders when the fog will lift. If the important things will begin to matter again. Her arm stretches, cutting through the fog, reaching for the importance of her life. Reaching and reaching, her arm extends, her fingers brush against it, feeling the goodness, the love, the sanctity of it.
Suddently she panics and scrambles to reach it, to caress it. She uses her body to to cut through the fog, fighting it with each motion. She wants to get back to the importance. To the familiar of her life. Feeling love. Sharing her love. Using her senses. Being aware.
Slowly the fog begins to fade. The uneasiness is still with her but as it begins to dissolve, she worries that it will come back. Its impression is left, its outline has been cast, easy to ignore for awhile until it gains its strength once again.
2 days ago
