Mists

fog2

The mists are hanging low today, muffling the waves as they beat upon the rocky shore.  They hold the kind of silence that is filled with repressed noise.  A paradox of stillness and life that wakes me up and soothes my nerves.

Tiny droplets nip at my skin.  It’s calling me, drawing me in.  It whispers to me through the stifled waves; there are other worlds to discover, let me show you.

There is the smell of fish and salt that eddies through the air, rooting me to this world, but I also smell green meadows with a hint of oranges, tugging me from the ground I stand on.

I’m in the murky space between what is and what could be.

What is: the shore I stand on every day, the horizon I watch from week to week, the hope for a reunion that grows thinner every month.

What could be: anything but this.

There is sadness rising in me for the day I fear is coming.  I breathe in, and the mist rushes down to soothe and entice.  I breathe out, and my chest is filled with fluttering wings.

In.  I am calm, I am curious.

Out. I am anxious, I am clinging.

There is no horizon to gaze upon today, only the lazy mists that curl around my legs urging me go, live, explore.  Only the nipping cold begging me run, play, laugh.  Only the silent crashing of waves whispering shhh, shhh, listen.

It builds and melts, forming something new deep inside of me.  There is electricity in the air, my heart can feel it. I can taste the possibilities in the mist, resting on the tip of my tongue.   Anything could happen.

So I reach out.

I whisper to the waves, the mists, the chill air. Show me.

The mists swirl around my fingers, and I swear it holds my hand.  It pulls gently, and I take a step.

Shhh, shhh, listen.

There is a rustle of leaves, a crackling of fire.

The droplets around me catch light from nowhere and sparkle.

I close my eyes and take another step.

Shhh, shhh, shhh.

There is spongy moss beneath my feet.

Another step.

I feel a puff of warm air edged with a hint of oranges.  My heart has settled, murmuring with a soft thump, thump, thump . . .

The mist is dissipating, slipping out of my fingers with a final tug.

I take another step.

I think I hear voices behind me, muffled as if wading through a fog.

My hand brushes against the bark of a tree, and the rustling leaves are no longer distant.

Inhale. Warmth fills me.

Exhale. I am rooted in new ground.

Faintly, from far away, I still hear the water whispering against the shore.

Shhh, shhh, shhh.

I take a final step, and waves fall silent.

4 thoughts on “Mists

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