Article voiceover
You can count the last leaves on your ten o u t s t r e t c h e d fingers. A slight exaggeration, but that’s what you call [[ artistic license ]] Anyway, most of them lay wet, nestled in corners of the garden. The toes of the sun bleached green oxfords my mother keeps succulents in hang off the porches edge as though they want to dive into the tangle of vines beneath. If I recall correctly, I’m the one who put them there so maybe it says more about me than the shoes. What drew me out here is the thick, gentle swath of fog filling the atmosphere, dampening sound, softening the edges of my breathing, welcoming the calm I often resist. Everything feels slower. There is nowhere to go in a fog like this. Sit. ((( Listen ))) Stay a moment in its warmth. Distance is unrecognizable. Houses disappear into shapes and colors. Bare lunged trees appear to be, well, I don’t know how to describe the interplay of watery atoms licking every inch of wood. But there it is again. Dissolving boundaries. Fuzzy. My love tells me the valley is a bowl of mist this morning he’s only now stirring.
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"If I recall correctly,
I’m the one who put them there
so maybe it says more about me
than the shoes."
Serene and reflective, Faye. I always enjoy and appreciate. There's more here to deep dive, but there always is. I am sitting in my car with sun streaming in warm, so I think this time I will just sit and feel it.
Wonderful 🖤