[Nov. 2014] When I look out of my window - seeing fog mixing with smog - and evening falls too early to my taste, I cannot but feel a little miserable. The day ends before she has properly begun. A day lived half. There is - so I discovered - a cure for November smog in your brain: return ticket to the countryside.
On the countryside mist is magic. Contours softly emerge and disappear. The world is intimate and enclosed. Noise drowns, landscape grows silent.
Stood on a hill, there can be new perspectives.
It might be foggy, but not everywhere, not always, not forever.
It draws you into philosophy. Behind the clouds the sun is shining. Mist melts away. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees - tangible light, a wave of joy, a sigh of admiration, a prayer of thanks toward the Lord, the Creator.
And the fog in your head no longer makes you feel afloat,
but rather serene.
Back home - sat at my desk, dirty November light falling through the window.
Days pass without ever really lighting up. But now I know that not far away on the countryside the November forest is serenely beautiful; that sunrays fan out over the lake; that above that fog the stars twinkle. That this day is not so bad.
Stood on a hill, there can be new perspectives.
It might be foggy, but not everywhere, not always, not forever.
It draws you into philosophy. Behind the clouds the sun is shining. Mist melts away. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees - tangible light, a wave of joy, a sigh of admiration, a prayer of thanks toward the Lord, the Creator.
And the fog in your head no longer makes you feel afloat,
but rather serene.
Back home - sat at my desk, dirty November light falling through the window.
Days pass without ever really lighting up. But now I know that not far away on the countryside the November forest is serenely beautiful; that sunrays fan out over the lake; that above that fog the stars twinkle. That this day is not so bad.
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