CHASING THE MIST

This morning when the Lucy factor (see previous blogs) and I went out for our daily hike, there was a low mist on the ground and the mountains up above us were wreathed in fog. Familiar landmarks and trees took on an eerie appearance and noise from the roads seemed dampened as if we were wrapped in cotton wool. Visibility was shrouded, and the few cars we met came suddenly out of the fog, their headlights blazing like the eyes of fiery dragons.
I write fantasy but you could label me a skeptic in most things. I’ve had a couple of strange experiences which have thrown into confusion some of my basic ideas about life and death but I still try to temper open-mindedness with logic. I can never remember which side of the brain controls what but both my spheres are pretty much operational. I adore science and finding about the way things work, I’m good at math, and applying rational thought, and then there’s the ‘childish’ or perhaps I should say ‘child-like’ side of my brain where I still retain that ‘what if’ mentality; that wonder; that certainty that there are things out there beyond our wildest dreams.
It may be that since a big part of my fantasy books about Feltus are concerned with magical worlds which intersect with our own but are obscured by an invisible wall from the eyes of most humans, I felt a certain amount of trepidation walking into the mist with my daughter this morning. But mixed with that unease (no doubt brought about by the curious silence and the weight of the water vapor against our faces) was also a sense of exhilaration. What if we walked into the mist and came out somewhere else completely?
What if hidden behind that thick blanket was a different world?
The island of Avalon was concealed behind sometimes treacherous fogs which could lead a man astray and drown him in the cold marsh waters, and the island itself moved, if I’m remembering my Arthurian legends correctly.
It was beautiful today and we met no other walkers. Up at the higher elevation the mist had blown away, but once we made our circuit and came down again, the fields were still shrouded, and this familiar place I’ve called home for six years, seemed unearthly and full of possibility.
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