Fog

The fog this morning was a living thing. The headlights of my car barely made a dent, bouncing off the suspended droplets of moisture, diffusing the light, making it appear denser. The fog rolled slowly, blanketing out the world, following my car, faithfully. Staying close. Not letting go.

Like in a coccoon. Sounds deadened, senses deprived. I wonder if this is how someone in a coma feels. Experiencing the world, life from behind a gauzy fog, knowing that there is something out there. You have only to stretch out your hand to make contact. But you are held back by inability.

I focus my eyes to pierce the white, wispy clouds. I wonder what it will feel like to extend my hand into this other universe. Will I feel something solid or will there just be nothingness behind the glove of light moisture. Unfamiliar and frightening. What if there is nothing behind the fog?

Is it fear that holds us its prisoner? Fear that makes us remain in our coma? Deadened yet alive. Barely.