Falling Like a Stone

Fog

The fog blankets my neighborhood.

Thick grey walls wash in from the sea.

Coating everything. Moving inwards.

Outside, the wind is crisp.

The water is vapid, vaporized, and omnipresent.

It slips through our molecules, sliding forward to wherever it's going.

The transition between worlds, some say.

But it's not the twilight that makes the transition, it's the fog.

Not quite water. Not quite air. Not quite earth. And definitely not fire.

Walking through the fog, anything seems possible. You could slip between worlds here, get marooned and never find your way back.

And who's to say that's not what happened to you? Who's to say this is the world you started in and not some shimmering past or long-dreamed-of future.

Who's to say?

And with that, you pull up your coat, take a step forward and immerse yourself in the fog, outside the familiar, finally in the realm of the possible.