fog in the morning

it was the same sight i saw when i first arrived last july. the heart of urban winter, the start of a journey. it comes full circle today. the near-beginning of winter, the coming end of the same journey. tilting at nine degrees.



it takes awhile to befriend the fog. the grey whorls of unclarity hides what's merely metres ahead. familiar sights are blocked from view and sometimes one has little access to what we yearn to see. but wait a while longer and the fog takes on its own beauty. an invitation to wrap oneself in cosy blankets or to cusp a warm cup of aromatic coffee. the streaks of black birds cutting the citylines. a single drop of dew on single leaves. wetness on the morning sky. the heavy yoke and gentle smoke of fog. rest in the guise of perplexity, loss, and its witness to new births.