This was the view from my window this morning.
There is a town out there somewhere...honest. Although you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.
The fog rolled in from the sea late last night and the fog horn was the soundtrack to my dreams. I rather like its mournful sound, it is eerily beautiful in its loneliness, like a lost soul singing from the deep.
When I wake on a day like today I am drawn to the blanket of white. It is strangely hypnotic and I know I will get very little done until it clears. It is deceptively still outside; not only because movement is hidden and sound smothered, but because the fog itself is anything but still. It may look it at first glance; an empty world, a shroud of featureless grey. But those who take the time to watch will see a multitude of softest hues swirling in a misty ballet of water droplets and air currents. There was magic in the air this morning; mystery and meditation were my companions. I walked in the world of the unknown, in that timeless place beyond the veil...
...and returned to the mundane and the everyday.
And now the skies have cleared and a hazy sun shines. But as I once more go about my daily tasks I carry myth and magic and mystery in my soul.