Dlog

it is one of those days where the work i do is a haze like the barely-there remembrance of some possibly disturbing dream. And when i wake and walk a while around the block, to get a coffee or just adjust my gaze beyond the screen of my computer, i find my thoughts in no particular order, no particular form even, but a din of sound, and color, and even emotional effect.
i saw the fog this morning at different times when i broke from the dream of work. it hid the tops of buildings for a while, and erased the skyline from between them later, as if the edge of the world was only a few blocks away. one thought surfacing only for a moment was of the urge to walk to that edge to peer over. but i already know that you never actually near the fog, like the bottom of a rainbow, or even the horizon on a perfectly clear day, it moves away just as quickly as you approach. i never feel taunted by it. i don’t feel like it is a place that i will never go. really i feel invited to explore, to imagine the mere possibility of it, all the things the fog hides, or whatever is just over the edge of the world are endless possibilities, a blank canvas, a place free from the rules that all the things closer to me, literally by a few blocks, have to abide.
the coffee is good, but i don’t notice until later, when the fog has cleared. I know I crossed a busy street but i can’t see it from here so instead of the frightening possible consequences of walking drowsily into traffic, i wonder where the warm water in the street-river falls to after the edge on Lovejoy st. and if my raft could survive the trip.
As i push through the pull door and leave the street and become more aware of my inevitable return to work, i realize that i would rather go back out and stand on the corner for the rest of the day. That i would rather write all day the things that i see there, if only i could write as fast as i feel, and in the actual language of my impressions.