In the park, I knew that I had seen these plants before, but everything looked different and a little strange.
Where did this yellow carpet come from?
The fog made the park look like a dream.
When I woke up and looked at the weather, my hopes were high. I loved the cool, sunny days we had been having, but it was time for a change.
It wasn’t like the fog had addressed anything I usually complain about, but I found that I had nothing to complain about. The fog was a filter.
In the actual fog, I forgot that we are living in a metaphorical fog of sickness, death, and destruction. Or maybe we’re not. Maybe we’re living in a fog of uncertainty, which is a constant.
I’ve been trying not to worry so much about the coming weeks/months/years.
But dread is very addictive.
I can escape it for a few moments, now and again.
The fog helps.
