snippets

The inside of the house I'm living in is being painted. There's a tall ladder that's leaning against one wall; the base of the ladder is leaning against the wall of the staircase and the top of the ladder leans up across on the other wall. The only way to get from the front door or upstairs to the kitchen and living room is to walk underneath the ladder. It's a good thing none of us are superstitious.

Dense fog and heavy rain, both very unexpected, made for an interested weather day. I liked it. When I left for church this morning at 7 I happened to be able to follow Shorty in his big orange truck. I was grateful for being able to follow him through the fog; a guide or beacon of sorts, it seemed. Cars appeared in the midst of the fog with only the barest of warnings from their headlights. I longed to take a walk through the fog and feel the droplets of cloud on my skin. Yet when I have walked through the fog, I've always been slightly disappointed. I always wish to disappear in the fog, but when I walk towards a spot that seems to be thickest, a density of low-hanging cloud, I've found that I can keep on walking and walking and always the fog seems thicker somewhere else, and not where I happen to stand. I long to truly feel lost in it, just for a little while; to walk into a cloud. But mist and fog remain illusive. They create their own mystery. I think that in spite of myself, I love it even more for that.