The door swung softly often and there came drifting in forty phantom visitors with whiskers on each chin.
It’s foggy this morning. I glanced out of my window and the whole world seemed to be wrapped in a soft, gray mist. We had rain yesterday and cooler weather so I imagine fog is the result. When my neighbor backed out of her driveway to go to work, the taillights of her car glowed eerily red like two eyes.
Not a word was spoken as they swirled in dripping gowns, and fixed their watery eyes on me and frowned their dripping frowns.
I like weather changes. It’s nice that the climate in NWArkansas is not always swelteringly hot or freezing cold but many times it is a pleasant in-between as the seasons change. I think fog is the connector that comes between temperature changes.
I stood there in a tremor as one stands in a trance while the forty faded phantoms began a phantom dance.
Fog is a funny thing. It doesn’t actually fall; it just is there. I can see it, I can feel it. Sometimes it drifts along in ribbons; sometimes it covers the earth like a blanket.
Then, slowly, they all beckoned with faint and foggy hands, inviting me to follow them to haunted netherlands.
I can’t hear it as I can hear wind or rain; it doesn’t linger as does snow. Fog comes in softly, transforming familiar objects into strange and unrecognizable shapes. It is elusive, like a passing thought or a remembered fragrance. It is just here and then, it’s gone.
Shivering, I shook my head, stayed rooted to the floor while the gray and ghostly visitors crept softly out the door.
Have a Happy Tuesday
Fog is an open invitation to stay home, curl up in my favorite chair with a favorite cozy mystery or peer out my living room at nature’s phenomenon and write mysterious and immaterial verse.
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