It rolled over me, wetting my face and catching the curl in my hair. It has been described as the unknown, but today, it was the mist of possibility. When you can’t see ahead, anything is possible. It is hope. You breathe it in and the haze of doubt forms with each breath out.
You can see the uncertainty cloud about your lips, giving credence to your humanness and also your fallacies. But the fog of what is possible overtakes your breathy insecurities, swallows them up, and as if made of the same matter, transforms them into a hanging curtain just waiting for you to step a few feet forward to reclaim sight. It beckons go.
Blue drops line your ear like the carbon blueprint of life and they whisper “dew.” A few drops of “dew” and all of a sudden you have a surging chorus of “do” and the unstoppable, life-paving rapids of “did.”
It soaks into the skin of your fingertips so that your inner fire might touch the world without burning it to the ground. Allows you to be a light for those lost themselves without blinding from the truth.
The air carries it softly, quietly, gently along because hope has no worries to drag it down. No need for wings to beat upwards. Hope rises despite the walls in its way, the leaves that rustle it, the people who scowl at it. It carries on and refreshes the life it touches, brown to green, thirst to relief.
Sometimes we don’t see it; other times, it requires mountainous journeys, and often we go many days before it will roll in. But when it does, we know. It took its time. It had many places to go and many people who needed to be reminded. Sometimes, being in a fog brings about the biggest insights with unfathomable clarity.