How I find joy in the occasional foggy day, when my senses become extra keen and mind is soothed. Let me take a walk outside right now, and then a drive to my favorite nearby spots. I won’t venture far. I have no need to.
I see the fog outside of my kitchen window and I can’t resist. Out my front door I rush. My excitement is just too much. Immediately I notice familiar images nearby, softened with a translucent glaze of pure whiteness. Sort of like walking as a bride down a path with a wedding veil. There is happy anticipation in the air.
My arms are bare and I feel the cool mist gently caressing them. They feel “abilene”, a new word I found meaning “the pleasant coolness of the underside of a pillow.” Complete or near quiet accompanies this treat. No birds are singing. Few people venture out on my street. Soft sounds abound like that of the passing mist in a soft breeze, maybe the almost soporific white noise buzz of a street lamp, or the occasional inquiring bark of a dog next door.
As long as the fog isn’t too thick I still know where I am, but the sights take on a mystical appearance like that of a fairy land. I decide to drive to the nearby café, proceeding through the fog 10 mph below the usual limit. Where usually the images of this familiar route pass by unnoticed, they now seem to appear in the haze, but in slow motion. I know where I am, but it almost looks foreign all the same. My lights are on and wind shield wipers set to intermittent. As the car movement is physically slowed down, the sound of the wipers is, too. I find myself slowly counting its strokes. One, and two, and three, and four. I become hypnotized.
When I reach the café I snap out of my trance. Through the door I see a group of regulars. They are laughing and animated in this crystal clear haven. My brain peps up, and I begin to feel like a kid on a snow day. After I finish my hot cup of coffee, I set out back for home, but decide to take a different route. A mile down the road I see a driveway that seems to lead to nothingness. I park and walk towards it. It is my favorite lake. I stand still at the edge and hear the sound of jumping fish, and the honks of Canada geese, but I don’t see them.
After what seemed like hours, I again head home in my car and return to my kitchen. Within minutes the fog seems to clear. What was that experience I just had? Was it a dream?