One of my favorite things about fall is the fog that comes sweeping over the ground in the mornings and evenings, gripping the landscape with its milky-white fingers. By obscuring my view, it transforms the ordinary things – trees, lampposts, houses – into an otherworldly scene, a place where fairy tales can happen. Looking at that giant lake of white it begins to feel like anything could be hidden in its depths.
On sunny days, especially on days when I feel like disassociating from reality, I look at the white, fluffy clouds illuminated by sunlight and wish that I could be up there, in that wispy world. I imagine myself on a plane flying through the clouds, only this time sitting outside of the plane. Except instead of feeling the frigid winds that snake throughout the atmosphere I would be bathed by warmth, my body exhaling in comfort. I imagine myself flying through the clouds, passing through those curtains of mist watching the world below become covered and uncovered, as though it were a shy bride who kept fiddling with her veil. I love imagining myself in the clouds – it feels like such a peaceful place from which the world below can’t help but look beautiful.
Unfortunately I can’t actually be up in the clouds, sitting outside an airplane, but on foggy days the clouds come down to me. They surround me and now I don’t have to imagine – I really am surrounded by a sea of giant gossamer cotton balls of mist. The fog is at once solid and liquid – it creates barriers, obscuring view of the ground, animals, houses, but it also flows, moving away from me as I walk towards it, shrinking from my touch. It is temperamental, only appearing at specific temperatures, heeding its own wishes and not mine, but I can’t help but love it. Because when it does swirl into being I am, once more, among the clouds. 🙂