The fog is rolling in during the my last hours in the gulch. I watch it creep slowly from the valley up the hillside. It moves like a blanket pulled tightly around the shoulders of the mountain. The air is brisk, but the snow that fell the day before has since melted away. I can hear it dripping off the roof onto the cold ground as I sit on the bottom step leading to the upstairs apartment. I left the door open, listening to the hot dryer tossing its contents in a heated fury. Voices in the distance echo through the gulch as the fog creeps ever closer. I watch the tiny figures moving far below me disappear in a wave of white, rolling mist. The fog is brightly contrasted against the dark greens and browns of the ground. I am alone. It is here where I become lost in myself. Just as the fog engulfs the mountain, I swirl in the sea of my thoughts and emotions. I'm lost. Or am I? I laugh. Then I cry. I want the fog to hide me, conceal me so deeply that no one finds me. So I can stay forever enveloped in that fog in the gulch. I'm happy. I'm sad. Then I just...am. And I realize where I want to be. The silence is deafening as I come out of my head and back into the chilly, morning air. The dryer is done. I sigh. Reality trickles back.
I long to be back in the fog again.
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