The clouds were marvelous this morning. I sat atop my house and gazed upon them. Although it was mostly hidden, I made out the late morning sun to be a majestic gold color. It was as if angelic creatures shrouded in mist were exuding beams of light across the sky. I often ponder as to whether the sky or the land is reality. I truly hope it is the sky. I want that majestic mystery to be the truth percieved by my sense.
Everything is fake. I no longer pass through time; it passes through me. I am in the same place constantly; The moment never changing, but time continuing on. Its as if I'm stranded on an island, and time is the ocean. Everything around me is affected by time but my experience is not. Time flows around me, but I stay dry, untouched by its presence. Life has become a story that I watch from the outside. I forget that I am part of it sometimes. I forget the people I am supposed to know. I forget who I am.
Dark and gloomy clouds blanketed the sky today, causing a feeling of foreboding. As I trod through the soggy grass, a familiar feeling overtook me. My time here has almost come to an end. I feel it in the wind. I feel it when I gaze upon the sky. I can't wait for them to take me. I want desperately for it all to end. When it happens, everything will be ok.
Today I walked through lushious green fields sparingly painted with Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. The light, overcast sky did not take away from their beauty. Although the temperature and winds were unpleasent, the inconvenience they caused paled in contrast to the pleasingly beautiful clouds. I felt the presence of things in the distance. I wanted to go to them. They called to me from beyond the horizon. There is something out there, behind the fog and clouds. One day I will find it. Today, however, I was forced to turn back due to the approach of night.
The sky is the most amazing and fascinating part of our world. Every mystery and every secret is held by the sky. Nothing is real except for the sky. When you gaze upon it, you see reality. Everything else is a haze. The clouds are brush strokes. Daintily adding accent, covering up the sky in a woolen blanket, or setting fire to the atmosphere.
Fog is an extremely beautiful thing. One of the most extraordinary facets of nature. The scent, the way it affects the scenery, the mystery. So many aspects of fog are pleasing to the senses. But there is more to fog than its beauty. The mystery of fog mentioned previously is not superficial. Things hide in the fog. Things humans have only ever seen in dreams rendered by their subconcious, along with things that even the human imagination could never begin to design. These creatures are timeless, mystical, and powerful. I dont know why they hide, nor do I know if we will ever meet them. I feel them, though. Walking through a feild on a foggy, overcast day. They are out there.
I have yet to document them. Do not worry, for I shall.
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