Fog. Yes, definitely fog. Drifting in and settling like a thick, mind-smothering film. Obscuring vision, dampening the ears, suppressing the olfactory, anesthetizing thought. Slipping, slipping, slipping into a dumb and useless dormancy.
But it wasn't sun that cleared the senses. Nor a fresh breeze. It was an owl, rather two owls in conversation, during the late evening hours that penetrated the shroud. And a dog over on the next block. And the promise of northern lights (which was a stupid anticipation this far south, actually) while remembering past displays in other parts of the world.
A yawn. A stretch. A shake of the head. I feel like a 25-year-old. "Huh? How'd I get here?"
Today's Influences and Soundtrack:
Cornelius Plantinga, Not The Way It's Supposed To Be
James Blaylock, The Rainy Season
Hector Berlioz, Symphonie Fantastique
Will Ackerman, Past Light