A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.
it starts with a feeling of vacuum, this vicissitude, as the valleys fill up with mist… the vapour dances on the grass and bounces off the rocks as a silken layer glazes the surrounds… a curtain is drawn on the outdoors forcing the stroller to introspect, or if it is threateningly overcast, rush headlong into the quest for a shelter…
this is about the man though, and scenarios where the heavens do not intend to pour down with the utmost urgency… for there the human is flummoxed, perturbed by the constricted vision yet enthralled once again by the stadia of natural processes…
for this mist waters all the rocks in your head, and suddenly one finds all these green shoots wriggling out of the cracks… a point where the man stops moving and sits down to stare point blank at the screen of white, the theatre of intertwined existence playing out in the open… ’tis a tangling and an untangling at the same time, the trail is veiled but the thought is clear, the boulders are strewn around invisibly but the rote skips all, the streams are far down but one can drink from the air…
the mystery of the mist is a rather foolproof trap… for in a moment where one might need to hustle up some strength and make a dash for safer grounds, the mortal dangers are suspended for rumination on the ethereal… the man may come up with some rye humour or sulk within the permutations of tragedies that might materialise, but a vortex compels him to sit… daydream… and sail into the mist…
musings on the feeling of leisure induced by mists…
Beautifully captured 🙂 and equally beautifully described, worth the read.