“Fog: A Study”
When a fog gathers, when a fog descends, it folds the landscape into a series of chambers I can walk through, unmindful of entering or leaving, as though I am a still point and the world remakes itself around me. However cold the day, the air will be soft on my face. I’ll have to stop a moment and just breathe the “dearest freshness deep down things” that Hopkins named so well. I know how I watch and wait for it, but that joy comes always by surprise, as though missing is just another bodily function, like the blood pulsing in my veins, the silvery singing in my ears I too often mistake for silence.
Read more from “Fog: A Study” in the Spring 2012 issue of Fugue.