Carl Sandburg was the one who said,

“The fog rolls in on little cat feet.”

Every time the fog covers the earth, I’m reminded of his words. It’s soft, silent, and yet immovable.

It coats the world with mystery,

makes me wonder if this is what it’s like,

to carve out moments alone,

unbothered by technology, responsibilities, or deadlines.

I wonder if I could stop time and move in one moment for as long as it took to finish something,

would the air be full of fog the way it is right now,

on my drive to work?

The darkness and the fog mix together to create an atmosphere suitable for a horror movie,

or perhaps,

for a trip on Charon’s ark to the underworld

to meet with Hades himself.

I long to sit,

snuggled in a blanket next to a fire,

with a good book in my hands

and cover myself in the mist outside my door.

It feels like it should be warm instead of cool,

comforting instead of empty.

But instead, it makes the road slippery and traffic slow.

Silence fills my car,

broken only by the sound of a distant horn.

In this moment,

I am tucked away in my own universe,

an island unto myself,

to quote another philosopher.

Perhaps I can emulate the fog one day,

carving out moments to sit and ponder the universe

where I will think,

therefore I am or will be.

Until then,

I look out my window into the fog

and allow it to wrap my soul

with the silver silence of peace.