rejectomorph | Brief Fog

Afternoon fell quiet, and the forest was wreathed in fog, the dripping trees appearing no more substantial than the dense mass of cloud from which they loomed. Had there been time, I'd have gone for a walk and maybe gotten lost. Such delight to be lost in fog. But the appointment, too, loomed, and I was forced to forego the pleasure of being invisible. The teeth were duly polished and poked and subjected to that intense little spray of water, like an old facade being stripped of its paint. The good news is that the teeth will continue to fulfill their assigned function, and I need not be reduced to subsisting on a diet of gruel. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

But, by the time the procedure was complete, darkness was falling and the rain had returned, the clouds having once again ascended to the heights from which they had but briefly settled. Fogs seldom last long here. Someday, I would like to live in a place where fogs last for days, and I can wander for miles through a gray world of muffled sound and limited vision, taking in each small space as it opens, as though peering at a series of miniatures wrought with simple yet subtle detail.